


The Type

by jetlagged_chinchilla



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Dubious Consent, Kidnapping, M/M, Non-Consensual, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Sexual Coercion, eventual Rick/Negan - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2019-08-19 02:29:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 37,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16525583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jetlagged_chinchilla/pseuds/jetlagged_chinchilla
Summary: When it comes to good-looking men like Negan and Rick, Simon just can't help himself.





	1. Chapter 1

All his life, Simon lived in the shadows of others. Others who were more successful, more popular, richer, and of course, better looking than he was. And even now, in this post-apocalyptic world, he still lived in the shadow of one cocky, charismatic, overbearing son-of-a-bitch named Negan.

Negan. Oh yes, Simon knew the type.

Negan was probably the star athlete in highschool. Excelled at every sport - football, baseball, swimming, you name it. He was the jock, the stud with the killer hot body and ridiculously handsome face. All the cheerleaders would line up to have a go with him behind the bleachers. Girls falling all over themselves as he strutted down the hallways. Even some of the female teachers secretly wet their panties over him. Never a shortage of confidence. He received unrelenting praise and adoration from friends, faculty, family and total strangers. First-place trophies up the wazoo. Athletic scholarships offered to him left and right. The whole school chanted his name at games. Absolutely no problems with getting what he wants, or who he wants, anytime, anyplace.

In contrast, Simon was always the oddball in school, awkward and gangly-looking. The ugly duckling that stayed ugly. No one gave him a second look, or even a first look. He wasn't even smart or talented. He was nothing. He would sit quietly in the back of the class, staring at all the good-looking kids and wish he was one of them. Or to have one of them. But he had no chance at all. There would be flying pigs ice-skating in hell before a pretty girl or boy would even turn their head in his direction.

And now, during a weekly pick-up in Alexandria, Simon watched as Negan barked orders to his saviors, watched as they all scrambled to do as told, wanting nothing more than to please their fearless leader. Yes, Negan had his ass kissed 24/7. By God, everybody _literally_ fell to their knees before him. This gave Negan an over-inflated ego, an ego so massive it could rival Mt. Kilimanjaro.

It just wasn't fair. As loyal as Simon had always presented himself, he secretly reviled Negan, believed the Savior leader should be taken down a notch or two...or three. Make him see that he wasn't the King of All Things. But goddamn, that cocky ass bastard was gorgeous! Yes, Simon hated Negan, but his hatred was out of irreconcilable envy. Simon _wanted_ Negan, wanted him so badly it hurt like a mule kick to the nuts, and he hated him because he couldn't have him.

At least, not yet, Simon thought with a smirk.

And then Simon watched as Alexandria's leader made an appearance, the blue-eyed Adonis, sauntering up to Negan with that sour look of his as they spoke quietly to each other, having a secret little pow-wow between leaders. Simon leered at Rick, his eager eyes looking Rick up and down like a yo-yo.

Rick. He was another one. Oh yes, Simon knew the type.

Rick could be a fucking GQ model or a moviestar. He could be on billboard-sized, black-and-white Calvin Klein underwear ads. Rick was the pretty boy, the popular kid in school, the lead of every school play, the prom king. He was the teacher's pet, everyone loved him, and the lunch lady gave him extra fish sticks just for having such a great smile. The girls swooned when they saw him, scribbling “Mrs. ________ Grimes” all over their notebooks in girly-colored ink as they fantasized about their's and Rick's wedding day. Never had a pimple. Hair always perfectly coiffed. He was smart and witty. Everyone laughed at his jokes. He was voted most likely to succeed in the senior yearbook, and everyone lined up out the door for Rick to sign their copy.

Simon seethed at the fact that both Negan and Rick had it so easy in life. It was no wonder they became the leaders of their respective communities. Of course, people always wanted to follow the attractive ones, they were drawn to such people like braindead moths to a burning fire. Simon gazed again at the pair as they continued to talk out of ear shot of anyone else. Seeing them both together made him doubly angry and doubly hard in the pants. He took a mental picture of them – definitely one for the spank bank tonight.

He had _plans_ for Negan, had had them for a while now. He was biding his time until he could make his move. But the recent acquisition of Alexandria was a new development, and now newcomer Rick Grimes was in play, and Simon wondered if he could incorporate Rick into his insidious scheme. And the answer to that was: _fucking yes!_

That night, back at the Sanctuary, Simon laid in bed with a smile on his face after two self-inflicted orgasms. It was almost time to put his plan into motion, he mused hazily as he drifted off to post-masturbatory sleep.

It was time for the reign of Simon.

Everything Negan had would be his.

Negan would be his.

And Rick was the fucking cherry on top.

 


	2. Chapter 2

“Simon, get some people to help unload these trucks,” Negan instructed to his second in command.

“Sure thing, boss!” Simon beamed, huge and bright, all teeth under that giant, frizzy moustache of his, eyes as wide as saucers.

Simon sure seemed mighty happy today, Negan thought, which was strange because Simon was usually such a sourpuss, walking around with a grimace like someone had twisted his nutsack into a fisherman's knot. But today, his right-hand man was as giddy as a schoolgirl, and all day long, he had been answering Negan's orders with a crazed smile and an over-enthusiastic demeanor. Honestly, it was creepy, like serial killer creepy.

“What are you so happy about?” Negan asked suspiciously. “If you got some good news, then please do share.”

“Nothing, boss,” Simon replied, trying to temper down his grin but failing. “I guess I'm just, you know, loving life!”

“Uh-huh.” The Savior leader was skeptical, but let it go. He had better things to do than to figure out why Simon was acting like he had a whole bottle of happy pills inserted in his ass.

 

* * *

 

Tonight was a go, Simon thought excitedly as he rubbed his hands together. He had been planning this moment for the better part of the year now. Negan was working overtime this evening, as he did whenever things got backed up. That meant that Simon would be bringing Negan a late dinner, and the boss also liked a stiff drink to go with it after long days like today.

Yes, Simon would make him a stiff drink alright, a _really stiff_ one.

In the privacy of his own room, Simon opened his dresser drawer and pulled out a large baggie full of various pills. He had been collecting pills and medications under the radar. He was always the first one to inspect the pharmaceutical goods they received from pick-ups, and Simon would covertly pocket whatever caught his interest – mainly sleeping aids, muscle relaxants and anti-depressants.

He had enough pills to knock an elephant out on its ass, Simon mused delightedly, as he carefully selected a few pills and placed them in a small dish and crushed them up with the back of a spoon. Next, he procured a bottle of a dark liquor – one of Negan's favorites, what he called, “the good stuff” - and poured a generous helping of it in a fancy glass tumbler. Mixing in the secret ingredients, he made sure the powdery substances dissolved completely.

Simon smiled devilishly as he observed his creation, the swirling concoction innocuous in its dark, amber hue. A potent cocktail that dreams were made of. A liquid lottery ticket.

 

* * *

 

He knocked on Negan's door, silver tray of food and drink at the ready. Simon felt nervous, really nervous, as he tried to steady his hands from shaking. This late dinner was coming at 11pm, which was perfect timing as everyone else in Sanctuary had already gone to bed.

Negan answered the door in a tight grey t-shirt and black boxers, hair damp and messy from a shower. _Jesus Motherfucking Christ,_ Simon thought, biting his lip to keep his jaw from hitting the floor like a goddamn cartoon character.

“H-here's your dinner, boss,” Simon said as blood rushed to his nether regions, offering up the tray, the liquor in the glass swishing around as he forced to still his trembling hands.

“Yeah, thanks, Simon,” Negan rumbled appreciatively in that velvety voice of his, and took the tray without noticing anything peculiar.

Negan retreated into his room, and Simon slowly shut the door as he left, catching one last glimpse of his boss, soon-to-be former boss.

“Sleep well,” Simon advised before closing the door, a grin on his face and a glint in his eye.

 

* * *

 

Simon paced in his room, nervous energy radiating through his tall, lanky body. Once again, he peeked outside his bedroom, looking down the hall to Negan's room. The lights were off, and had been for about an hour now, which was a great sign.

The drugs must have kicked in by now, he thought, this was now the time. Simon snuck quietly down the hall, stepping ever so softly on the concrete flooring, his fingers feeling the rough texture of the rope in his hands.

He gingerly turned the doorknob to Negan's room, thanking the gods that they had never gotten around to installing locks on the bedrooms, and pushed open the door, the hinges making an annoying squeal that Simon had never noticed before until now. He gritted his teeth, but it was okay as he saw Negan's sleeping form on the bed, undisturbed by the noise.

Simon entered the room and gratefully noticed the empty tray on the table, as well as the near-empty tumbler, only a small amount of the liquid coloring the bottom of the glass. Standing by his boss's bedside, Simon towered over Negan's passed out body, chest rising and falling as he breathed heavily in drug-induced sleep. Goddamn, Simon pondered, it was such a hot sight and it was all he could do from taking advantage of the prone man right then and there.

He nervously and slowly took hold of Negan's arm, lifting it up, feeling the pulse on the wrist. He shook the arm slightly, then more rigorously, testing to see if Negan would wake up from the motion. If Negan did wake up, Simon would just make up some bullshit emergency to explain why he was jostling Negan in the dead of night. But Negan didn't wake up, and Simon grew more confident as he dropped the arm back down and moved on to shaking Negan's shoulder, tapping on his chest, tugging his hair, but nothing Simon did could rouse the sleeping beauty.

Giddy with excitement, Simon rolled Negan onto his stomach and proceeded to tie his wrists and ankles together with the rope. Now he had to get Negan out of the room and into his car, Simon thought, running through the next steps of his plan in his mind. It was dark and everyone was already asleep at this hour so Simon had no worries about being spotted. He would take the back exit of the factory, which wasn't far, and he already had his car packed and ready to go just outside the exit.

Mustering his strength, he wrapped his arms around Negan's chest, clasping his hands in front, and hauled the zonked out man from the bed and onto the floor. Simon continued to drag his prize into the hallway and down the stairs. It was difficult, more difficult than Simon had anticipated, for Negan was not a small fella, but Simon's will and determination outperformed any physical exhaustion he felt.

Finally, they made it to the back exit, as Simon stopped to prop open the heavy door with a brick. His heart was beating faster by the second as his plan was proceeding without a hitch. Stepping outside the cold, night air, he popped open the trunk of his car that he had earlier backed up to the exit. Dragging the bound Savior leader to the trunk and hauling him inside, Simon breathed in deep and heavy as he caught his breath after such exertion.

He eyed his trophy lying in the trunk of the car, knees bent and torso twisted in an awkward position, and Simon thought it looked hot as fuck seeing Negan trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey. He took a moment to bask in the glory of his success, as if he were Ahab finally catching his great white whale. Snapping out of his revelry, Simon took a strip of cloth that he had placed in the trunk and tied a gag around Negan's mouth. He also had a pillowcase and placed it over his captive's head.

Getting in the driver's seat, Simon started the engine. It would be a long ride to where they were going.

 

* * *

 

When Negan woke, his head pounded painfully and he felt like he had been hit by a semi-truck. His eyes stung and when he opened them, he couldn't see shit. He was groggy and exhausted and he couldn't figure out why. It wasn't until he tried to move his body when he realized there was something wrong – very, extremely, _terribly wrong_.

He was lying on a hard surface – definitely wasn't his bed – and his arms were stuck behind his back and he couldn't pull them apart. His wrists were tied together, he realized with cold dread. Panic rose within him as he struggled to get his bearings together. There was a covering over his head, he was gagged, and there was something around his neck. _What the fuck was going on and who the fuck was doing this_ , was all he could think of, anger replacing fear as he struggled uselessly against the tethers.

And as if matters couldn't be any worse, Negan felt drafty in whatever place he was in. And that was because he was only wearing his t-shirt and boxers he had on the night before. Yeah, it was _bad, bad, bad._

All he remembered was having dinner in his room last night. He didn't remember going to bed or seeing anyone. He certainly didn't remember being _kidnapped,_ which is clearly what had happened. Whoever was behind this was going to pay and pay dearly, Negan vowed. He was going to Lucille the holy hell out of whoever did this, a hundred times over.

It was probably the Alexandrians, he thought, _fuckin' Rick Grimes_ and his merry band of asshats. He seethed as he bit down on the gag, rage burning as his pounding headache still persisted. Or maybe it could be one of the other communities, that clown Ezekiel, or those stinking garbage people. It couldn't be that pussy Gregory, he continued to wonder as a litany of possible suspects scrolled through his mind. Or perhaps it was an inside job, one of the saviors - maybe that douchebag Murry who always gave him the stink-eye and was always the last one to kneel.

Whoever it was, it didn't matter. They were as good as dead as far as Negan was concerned. Pretty soon, his loyal saviors would come looking for him, either Simon, Arat or Dwight. Most likely Simon, who would be the first one to notice Negan was missing. His right-hand man would sound the alarm, gather the troops and come find him, savagely knocking heads along the way in his relentless search.

Yeah, Simon would find him. Negan had faith in Simon.

 


	3. Chapter 3

“Have you seen Negan? I can't find him anywhere,” stated Arat in annoyance as she strode up to Simon on the floor of the factory.

Simon gave Arat his best dumbfounded expression. “Nope, haven't seen him today. You sure you looked everywhere? Maybe he's with one of his wives.”

“I'm sure,” Arat insisted, always no-nonsense. “He's not anywhere. He was supposed to meet with me this morning.”

Simon looked away, gazing into thin air as if he were deep in thought. “Huh, that's not like him.” He furrowed his bushy brows, placed a hand under his chin, and spoke under his breath like he were talking to himself, “Hmm, I wonder if...nah, can't be.”

“What?” Arat demanded sharply.

“Well,” Simon began, “I saw him last night after he was working late. I got him his dinner. Then afterwards, I heard him leave his room, and I peeked outside and saw him. He told me that he was going out.”

“Going out?” Arat repeated incredulously. “Going out where?”

“He didn't say,” Simon replied, mirroring Arat's confused face. “He only said that he'd be back. Told me to go back to bed and not to worry. I only thought he was getting some fresh air. I didn't think he'd be gone all night.”

Arat's face contorted into a mask of alarm. “Do you think something happened to him?”

“No, no,” Simon said, waving his hand nonchalantly, “I'm sure he's fine. He's Negan. He can take care of himself. I'm sure he'll be back like he said.”

Arat shook her head nervously, “I don't know, Simon. Don't you think we should go out and look for him?”

“You know what? You're right,” Simon said, not missing a beat. “I will personally head out there right now and scour the whole region around Sanctuary, every inch of it. I'll leave no stone unturned.”

“By yourself?” Arat asked. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, no!,” Simon hollered a little too defensively. “You need to stay here and take care of this place while I'm gone,” he ordered authoritatively.

Arat nodded, “Okay, thanks, Simon.”

Simon gave her big grin that was meant to be reassuring but was just plain creepy. “Don't worry. If he's out there, I'll find him.”

 

* * *

 

Simon pulled up to the old warehouse where his shiny new pet was waiting for him. _Oh, this is gonna be good_ , he told himself with untamed glee. Negan was going to be so royally pissed when he found out it was Simon who had abducted him, his own trusty right-hand, and Simon could almost imagine the look of shock, outrage and humiliation on his boss's face. But he wouldn't need to imagine for much longer.

He had found the warehouse a while back, an empty old brick building filled with rust and musty odors. Simon never thought much of it until he hatched his plan of kidnapping Negan. Far and secluded, it was the perfect hideaway to conduct his dirty business.

Entering the building through its large, heavy doors, Simon walked the expanse of the warehouse floor. He spotted Negan, right where he had left him, tied up and hooded against the wall. Negan was clearly awake now, sitting up on his knees and back on his heels as he undoubtedly could hear Simon's footsteps clap along the concrete flooring, echoing throughout the vast, vacant space.

Each step closer he took, Simon's heart pumped harder, getting dizzy with anticipation, the extra blood filling out the bulge in his pants. He finally came to a stop in front of Negan, just a few feet away, and the sight before him never looked so, so delectably sweet.

Negan still had the pillowcase over his head, so his captor's identity was still unknown to him, but that would be remedied soon enough. His hands were bound behind his back, and a chain leash about four feet in length ran from his neck to the wall behind him, the end wrapping around a metal pipe that ran along the bottom of the wall and secured there with a padlock. The chain was long enough so that he could sit upright, but too short for him to stand.

It must have been uncomfortable, Simon thought, to be bound there all morning in your skivvies. Even Simon thought it was kind of chilly and he was fully dressed. Regardless, Negan looked calm, considering the circumstances, no trembling or heavy breathing, and Simon admired his resilience. He was probably waiting for Simon to say something or do something, and Simon smirked so hard his face hurt.

It was time for the big reveal.

Stepping forward, he pinched the corner of the pillowcase and slid it off Negan's head. It took a second for Negan's eyes to adjust, and when they did, those lazer sights landed directly on the savior lieutenant.

Simon spread his arms out in a “ta-da!” pose, the biggest shit-eating grin plastered on his face this side of the Earth's hemisphere.

The first expression was of confusion, grave confusion and disbelief. Like Negan had never seen Simon before in his life and was trying to figure out who the fuck he was.

“Hey there, boss,” Simon crooned tauntingly, giving Negan a snarky little wave. That did it.

Negan's eyes turned angry. Not just angry. Full throttle vein bursting, tooth shattering, blood boiling, volcanic, murderous _rage_.

“ _Simon!_ ” Negan tried to yell, but it was muffled through the gag. “ _What. The. Fuck_.” He lunged forward as far as the chain leash would allow, metallic rattling ringing sharply as he strained against the bonds, every muscle tense, breathing labored and skin flushed red. The magnitude of this betrayal was unlike any other, maddening and incomprehensible. He tried to yell some other things that were indecipherable, and Simon could only guess that it wasn't an invitation to his next birthday party.

“I guess you're wondering what all this is,” Simon said, summoning all the smugness he could into his voice. “We'll I'm gonna tell you, and you're gonna listen...for a change.” He shook a finger condescendingly at his captive, enjoying the hell out of this state of affairs.

Worn out and powerless, Negan stopped his struggling and settled into staring bloody daggers at the traitorous kidnapper.

“You see, Negan,” Simon smacked his lips, haughty hands on his hips, “Everyday you wake up in your four-poster bed and your Egyptian cotton bedsheets, you come downstairs and boss people around, swinging your dick like it's the only dick in existence, you eat your meals that are specially made just for you, and then you get your pick of wives to bone at night. That sound about right, Negan?

“And everybody loves you for it, don't they? Yeah, they do. They call you their 'Savior', and get on their knees for you, and kiss your ass all day long, right? Things are always easy for you, aren't they? They were always easy for you. I bet it was like this your whole entire life, Negan.”

A burning defiance appeared in Negan's eyes as he grunted a muffled response. He obviously did not agree to Simon's assessment of him.

“Tell me, did you ever play sports in school? Were you ever on the baseball team or the football team?” Simon asked, searching Negan's eyes for answers. “Yeah, that's what I thought. See? I knew it,” Simon spat, pointing accusingly. “I know your type. You're the type that gets everything handed to them in life on a silver platter because you won the genetic lottery.  

“Handsome, talented and gifted. People like you never gave people like me a second thought. You were out dating your pretty little cheerleaders and prom queens. But what about people like me? The ones you look down upon and laugh at because we're not good looking enough? You all live in these perfect little bubbles of beautiful people, and the rest of us can go eat dirt. The world revolves around you, you can have anything and anyone you want. But me? I never could have someone like you and all the things you have.

“But all that changes today,” Simon announced with fervor. “See, now I’m gonna be top dog. I’m taking over the Sanctuary and I’m gonna do a damn better job than you ever did. Everything you have is now _mine,_ ” he stressed, jabbing a finger at himself. “And _you_ ,” he pointed dramatically at Negan, “are _mine_ now too.” Simon's crazed smile was back, moustache twitching up his face like a villainous caricature.

It was cathartic, finally being able to tell Negan off, Simon thought, giving himself a mental self-congratulatory pat on the back. “Now I’m gonna take that gag off and give you a chance to speak,” he offered, leaning forward. “I’d like to hear what’s going on in that pretty noggin of yours.”

Negan seemed calmer now, not breaking eye contact. In fact, he seemed almost amused, but there was still a hint of a murderous gleam in his eye. Simon yanked down the gag and took a step back like his arm would get bitten off.

Negan took a few breaths and didn’t speak right away which surprised Simon. Usually you couldn’t get Negan to shut the fuck up. Simon was irritated, waiting while Negan took his damn, sweet time to say something.

“Well?” Simon demanded impatiently.

“Oh, Simon,” Negan drawled slowly, “you disappoint me, Simon. I never expected this from you, but I get it. I know _exactly_ what’s going on with you.” His words were languid and measured, calculated.

Simon looked down his nose at him with a frown, chest puffed out and standing as tall as he could.

“You have ‘big man, little dick’ syndrome,” Negan diagnosed. “See, I made you my second in command, and you got taste of what it’s like to be near the top, and now you’re hungry for more. You want everything now. But the truth is, you could never have gotten there on your own. You needed me to prop you up, let you ride my coattails. And you know it. And that just burns your cornhole, doesn’t it? You think you _should_ have what it takes, that you _should_ have everything you want, _but you don’t_. Just like when a great, big guy thinks he should have a big dick to match the rest of him, but he’s packing less meat than a vegan’s lunchbox, and it just doesn’t make any sense. _That’s you_ , Simon, and you can’t fucking stand it.”

Simon gritted this teeth, trying to keep his composure. For a man who was on his knees and tied up, Negan sure had some fucking nerve.

“Look, Simon, I’m not trying to piss you off,” Negan said in a more reconciliatory tone. “Let’s work together on this, okay? You let me go and we can forget any of this ever happened. We can work something out. You won’t be second in command anymore. We’ll be equal partners, equal in everything. How’s that sound? You get to make the big boy decisions with me and nothing goes through without your express approval.

“And you want to live like me? We’ll get you set up with some finer digs, find you some wives of your own, you’ll have first pick from all the shit we get from the other communities. All the food and drink you want, the best stuff only, made to order just for you, Simon.

“Everyone kneeling down to you, fetching your slippers and fluffing your pillow, come on, what do you say? You and me, leading together.”

Negan could see that Simon’s face was stone-cold and skeptical, but he was listening. Perhaps if another juicy carrot was dangling…

“You want me, Simon?” Negan asked with a purr. “You say I would never give you a second thought? Well, all you had to do was ask.” He slipped Simon a sultry smile and watched as Simon shifted uncomfortably. “You could have me, willingly,” he offered, hazel eyes smoldering. “I’ll slip into your room late at night and you can have me whatever way you want. Let’s say, once a week? That sound good to you, Simon?”

There was a pause, and then Simon gave a short, bitter, broken laugh, even as he was popping a raging boner. Negan was putting on his smooth negotiator schtick and laying on the charm real thick and heavy. Simon had witnessed it many times before and he would be damned if he fell for it. “What kind of fool do you take me for, Negan?” he spat. “I know full well that you would kill me the second you got the chance. So, nope, sorry. You’re never going back to the Sanctuary. It's mine now. _This_ is your new home now,” he taunted, “so get used to it.”

“Fuck you, Simon,” Negan snapped when his ploy didn't work, “I busted my ass building the Sanctuary, I put everything I had into that place, I made it was it is, and you think you can just swoop down and take it? That place would fall apart without me. You couldn't run it by yourself, you don't have what it takes. Like I said, you're just a big man with a little dick.”

Simon snorted indignantly, “Oh, is that right? Let's just see what kind of a dick I got, shall we?” he said, undoing his belt buckle.

“Shit, Simon. It was an analogy,” Negan cursed, regretting his choice of words. A really bad choice, indeed.

The towering man pulled his pants and underwear down to mid-thighs, aching cock finally springing out free as a bird. Simon grinned and proudly gestured to it with both hands like he was showcasing a product on the home shopping channel. “Well, what do you think?” he inquired smugly to Negan's disgusted look. “You know what I think? I think you two are going to be very, very acquainted with each other.” Simon laughed at his own inappropriate joke.

“Sick fucking pervert,” Negan growled. “What, are you going to rape me? Make me suck your dick?”

Simon had the audacity to look insulted. “Oh no, Negan, you got it all wrong. I'm not going to make you to suck my dick. If I shoved my schlong in your face, you would bite it off. I am absolutely sure of that.” He wagged his finger like he was scolding a bratty kid who wouldn't eat his veggies. “We can come to an agreement. I might be a lot of things, but I am not a rapist,” Simon weirdly insisted.

“The fuck are you talking abo-“

“A bartering system,” Simon announced eagerly, like he had discovered an amazing loophole. “You're going to get hungry pretty soon, Negan. You want food? How about water? Or some warm clothes or a blanket? I can get you any of those things and more. You just have to give me something first, like say…a blowjob, or your ass. So see? You get something you want, and I get something I want. Even-steven,” he explained casually as if he were talking about trading baseball cards.

“You deluded prick,” Negan said angrily, “Starve me until I break? That’s coercion, and it’s rape.”

“No, it’s not! It’s not the same thing.” Simon argued. “It’s a trade! You’d be agreeing to it.”

“It’s not agreement if I’m chained up…” Negan lurched forward, the metal links clinking as they pulled taunt, and his breath hitched as a broad, flat leathery material choked him around the neck. He looked behind himself for the first time, eyeing the mechanism of the restraint. “Am…am I wearing a _dog collar_?” he asked, incredulous.

Simon was just tickled pink as he stifled his laughter, dick obscenely bouncing up and down as he clutched his sides. He would never, ever, _ever_ get tired of this. “Hell yes, and you look really sexy in it.”

Negan again had that intense, murderous look on him as Simon could only imagine all the ways Negan was thinking about gutting and filleting him like a fish. God, how he loved seeing Negan so angry and helpless, the sight of it was the sweetest ambrosia. If only he could bottle it up and turn it into a gelato flavor.  

“I know you’re not in the mood for any bartering right now,” Simon said, “but in the coming days, you will be. Oh, yeah.” He grasped his jutting cock, leaking and sordid. “I really enjoyed our conversation, Negan, but I gotta get going. Gotta get back to the Sanctuary and tell everyone you’re dead. Make a big speech. Console the people. And officially take over for you. But before I go, I’ll leave you a little present,” he smirked, stepping closer to Negan while pumping his cock vigorously with his fist.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Negan asked horrified, knowing full well what the fuck Simon was doing.

Simon grunted as he jerked himself furiously and it didn’t take long before the inevitable. “Oh, _Fuck_!” he howled, knees buckling and gushing with the force of what felt like Niagara Falls.

“Shit!” Negan jolted backwards as if radioactive, burning lava acid was thrown at him. He managed to escape most of the splatter, but a wayward splash caught him across the neck and shoulder as he cringed in stunned, speechless disgust.

“Woo, lordy! Now that’s the money shot!” Simon hollered proudly, pulling up his pants while studying the results of his artistry. “And there will be plenty more where that came from,” he promised lewdly, squeezing his now depleted nutbag through his trousers for emphasis. “Now I’m not going to leave you here all alone for long, cause I know how much it sucks being lonely,” he declared as he started to walk away. “I’ll be back later,” Simon added, throwing Negan one last smarmy grin over his shoulder, “and I’m bringing you some company.”


	4. Chapter 4

When Simon returned to the Sanctuary, he immediately transformed his mood from exuberant to down-trodden. Upon entering the factory, he called for an emergency meeting of all the senior-level saviors.

“As you may have heard by now, Negan's been missing since late last night,” he announced heavily, slumping his shoulders as he scanned the faces of the other lieutenants. “I went out looking for him, and...,” he trailed off, making the words hitch in his throat.

“Is he -,” Arat began.

Simon nodded grimly, head bowed. “I'm afraid so. I came across a group of the dead, several miles out, and...I saw him.” He heaved a loud sigh, pursed his lips and injected all the despair that he could into himself. “He was turned,” he said, as the other saviors exchanged grave looks with each other. “I already took care of it,” Simon continued, “put him down and gave him a proper burial.”

No one asked questions, no one piped up with concerns that the story sounded fishy. They all just took his word for it. After all, shit happens. And why in the world would Simon ever lie about something like this? It was a well-known fact that he was the most loyal savior to Negan out of everyone.

“Now I know it's tragic. He was a great leader and my best friend,” Simon declared wistfully. “We will all honor him by continuing his vision, here at the Sanctuary and elsewhere.”

“So are you gonna be in charge now?”

He glanced at Dwight who had asked the question. “As second in command, it's my duty,” Simon stated, “even though I don't want it to be under these circumstances, I will do what I must. I promise I will do him proud,” he pledged passionately in mock grief, hanging his head forlornly and feeling like an academy award winner.

“What are we gonna tell the others?” Dwight asked.

“I'll handle it,” Simon replied, a sniffle escaping him. “I'll make the announcement. And then I'll inform the other communities. I'll tell them myself.”

All the senior saviors had no choice but to nod their heads in acceptance.

And with that, just moments later Simon stood on the platform, addressing the crowd of saviors and workers on the factory floor. He made his speech, one that he’d been mentally rehearsing for weeks. A somber yet assuring declaration, with soaring platitudes and hopeful visions of the future while giving respect and tribute to their dearly departed leader, never to be forgotten. Yep, it was a good one, all touchy-feely and awe-inspiring. Hell, even Negan would have been proud.

“So with great honor and humility, I will take up the mantle,” Simon spoke solemnly in closing.

Beside him, he picked up Negan’s favored weapon, a virtually hallowed and sacred thing. Simon never quite understood why Negan had a seemingly unhealthy attachment to this chunk of wood, but damn, it sure did look bad ass.

Smiling broadly, he swung Lucille over his shoulder, feeling the power surge through himself, the act akin to taking the king’s crown and placing it on his own head.

 

* * *

  

His first line of business was to deliver the “news” to the other communities, and Simon wasted no time in heading out. But Alexandria was a special case - he would not be informing them of Negan’s untimely death just yet, as he had some other unofficial business to attend to first.

As he drove closer to Alexandria, Simon could feel the adrenaline coursing through his body, so wracked with anticipation and excitement. His pulse throbbed and his teeth itched, just like before when he carried out his first abduction, brain synapses firing in all directions. If he wasn’t careful, he laughed to himself, this could become habit forming.

Reaching the front gates, Simon stuck his head out the car window and shouted to the gatekeeper. “Open up! I’m here to see Rick Grimes!” Being a recognized senior member of the Saviors, he was allowed in immediately.

He swaggered into the quaint little community with his gun holstered at his hip, feeling like the proud new owner of his own personal playground. It wasn’t long before Alexandria’s leader came out to meet him. Simon watched as the former sheriff deputy walked towards him, a hard glare in those blue eyes, brows furrowed, no doubt confused as to why Simon was there instead of Negan.

“What are you doing here?” were the first words out of Rick’s mouth, curt and snippy. “The pick-up isn’t until tomorrow.”

The lack of respect in Rick’s tone didn’t bother Simon. Rick didn’t know that he wasn’t talking to Negan’s right hand anymore. Oh, but he would learn who was boss soon enough. _Very soon_.

“Yeah, I’m here to talk to you about that,” Simon stated gravely, the seriousness in his words portending something bleak. “Your weekly contributions are being increased by twenty percent. Starting tomorrow.”

Stunned disbelief crossed Rick’s features and for a moment he looked like a kicked puppy, eyes wide in shock and bewilderment, complete with the ‘what-did-I-do-wrong’ face, before getting ahold of himself and turning incensed. “What? No! Absolutely not. That wasn’t the deal,” he spit out in flustered anger. Simon smirked inwardly. _Hot damn, Rick is cute when he’s flustered_.

Simon threw his hands up and shrugged. “Well, that’s the new deal. And you better have it all ready by tomorrow. Or you know what will happen,” he threatened not too subtly, knowing which buttons to push.

Rick ran a nervous hand through his dark curls, blindsided by this news. “Where’s Negan?” he questioned in ire. “Why didn’t he come here to tell me this?”

“Negan’s a very busy man, Rick,” Simon explained, “He can’t be everywhere at once. So he sent me here to tell you instead. Now just between you and me, I don’t think it’s very fair either. But it’s not my call. I’m just the messenger here.”

“Why? Why is he doing this?”

“Who the fuck knows?” Simon declared in equal bafflement. “Maybe you pissed him off somehow. Maybe he’s just being an asshole. Probably both. But it is what it is.”

“No deal,” Rick objected adamantly. “The agreement stays the same. If Negan wants to renegotiate, he can come here and talk to me himself.”

Simon let out a big, exasperated sigh. “Well, that ain’t happening between now and tomorrow. Look, Rick, I’ll be overseeing this pick-up, and if I don’t get the additional twenty percent, Negan explicitly told me to start breaking heads.”

“We can’t! There’s not enough time!” Rick railed, afraid for the welfare of his people. “You tell Negan that it’s not going to happen. He can’t just spring this on us at the last minute!” The Alexandrian leader huffed in righteous indignation, eyes burning bluer and harder than a butane torch at the wrongfulness of the situation.

Simon nodded in pretend sympathy, loving the way Rick was getting all riled up and bothered. “Shit, Rick. I feel for you, I really do. But you know how he is, he makes the rules and we all gotta follow. Me telling him isn’t going to do anything.”

“Then _I’ll_ talk to him. I’ll go to the Sanctuary right now,” Rick suggested very seriously, willing to go to any lengths to help his people. Of course Rick couldn’t let any harm come to his fawning fans, now could he? Because what good is being leader without a bunch of sheep to follow him around?

Simon appeared conflicted as he scratched at his head and sucked in air through his teeth. “Well, you’ve put me in quite the conundrum here,” he complained. “I’d like to help you out, but I can’t let you just waltz into the Sanctuary unannounced. There are protocols, meetings like this need to be planned ahead of time.”

“I don’t care. I need to talk to Negan,” Rick demanded, his demeanor tinged with desperation. “ _Today_ ,” he stressed.

Rick sure was one stubborn son-of-a-bitch. _Good._ Simon was counting on that.

“Alright, alright,” Simon relented with a hidden smile, suddenly coming up with a compromise. He looked Rick firmly in the eye and stuck out a finger. “I’ll do you a favor just this once, understand? I’ll drive you to the Sanctuary, get you in through the door. But whether Negan wants to see you or not is up to him. Got that?”

All out of options, Rick nodded, short and terse.

“Just you and nobody else,” Simon added, “It’s bad enough that I’m bringing you there. Don’t need any other of you assholes running around, making trouble.”

Rick was wearing that delicious scowl on his face, but didn’t object to any of Simon’s conditions. “Fine,” he conceded, spitting out the word distastefully.

Simon gave him a placating smile. “Hey look, I’ll even give you a ride back afterwards, just ‘cause I’m such a nice guy. How about that?”

“Give me a minute,” Rick stated, “I need to tell my family where I’m going.”

Simon nodded, quite satisfied with himself. “Sure, do what you gotta. I’ll be waiting in the car.”

 

* * *

 

Rick Grimes was a shit conversationalist, Simon noticed as they rode in silence in the car. Simon would try to fill the void with idle chat and stupid jokes, try to lighten the mood a bit, but Rick was having none of it, instead staring straight ahead through the dirty windshield, lost in the secretive thoughts of his own sulky self.

_That’s right, ignore me just like your kind have always ignored me_ , Simon thought bitterly, but that would be changing quickly in the near future. Yes, soon he was going to have Rick’s full fucking attention alright, and Rick was going to sit up and beg him for a bone like a good little doggy. And boy, did Simon sure have a nice, meaty bone for his pets. He snickered quietly, stifling an eruption of laughter as his lurid imagination ran rampant.

It was about halfway to the Sanctuary, in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, when the car slowed down and came to a stop. “Aw, shit,” Simon hissed under his breath.

Rick snapped out of his thoughts at Simon’s interjection. “What happened? Why are we stopped?”

“This vehicle’s a piece of shit, that’s what,” Simon replied in irritation. “Been having problems with the engine overheating,” he relayed, getting out of the car. “Hold on, hopefully this’ll just take a sec.”

Rick watched from the passenger seat as Simon walked around to the front of the car and popped open the hood. A few minutes passed as Simon inspected the engine, tinkering and prodding around, the long wait making Rick think that there may be a more serious problem.

“Hey, Rick, you mind taking a look at this,” Simon called out, “and tell me I ain’t seeing things?”

Rick got out of the car, anxious to get things fixed and to continue on their way. This wasn’t good, being stuck in the middle of nowhere where a horde of walkers could descend upon them at any moment. Standing next to Simon, he gazed down at the mechanical jumble under the hood.

“In there,” Simon pointed. “Does that look weird to you?” Simon took a step aside as Rick leaned in and looked long and hard at the alleged problem area.

So preoccupied he was with car troubles, Rick didn’t notice as Simon stealthily unholstered a Smith & Wesson.

Disgruntled, the Alexandrian straightened up and turned around. “I don’t see anything wrong with – “

A sharp *thwack* rang out as Simon cold-cocked Rick across the temple with the butt of the gun, so fast it was a blur. The force of the pistol-whipping reverberated through the air around them, invisible little shockwaves stimulating Simon’s very core. Rick tumbled over, smacking the bumper on the way down and slumped into a graceless heap on the asphalt, knocked out and motionless.

“Fuck, yeah!” Simon yelped, pumping his fist in the air. Whooping and hollering loud enough to re-raise the dead, he danced a shameless little jig right there in the road. He bagged another one, lightning striking twice. A euphoric head rush crashed over him in an exhilarating high, like hitting the lotto jackpot and scoring a Superbowl touchdown back to back, so amazed he was at his own incredible winning streak.

Damn, he was getting good at this.

Still riding the high of his victory, Simon leered down at the man that lay crumpled at his feet with a hungry, predatory gaze a hyena would have for its prey - succulent, mouth-watering and oh so edible. Deciding to include Rick along for this wild ride was one of the best decisions he’d ever made.

After all, two was always better than one, Simon grinned knowingly as he bent down to collect his new acquisition.


	5. Chapter 5

It was nearly sundown when Simon hauled Rick’s limp and unconscious body into the warehouse, the daylight fast fading through the dirty, cracked windows. It had been a taxing day, but Simon was about to reap the rewards of his hard work. And dang, what a fine bounty it was!

Negan looked up from leaning against the wall when he heard the doors burst open. Sitting up, he watched in morbid curiosity as Simon brought forth a new victim like a proud cat dragging a dead mouse back home for show and tell.

“Jesus Christ,” Negan muttered to himself, “is that…Rick?”

With visible effort, Simon lugged his stolen trophy up to the wall, about fifteen to twenty feet away from where Negan sat. Rick was already stripped down to a white t-shirt and blue boxers, hands tied behind his back, just the way Simon liked it. A trickle of dried blood graced Rick’s hairline.

Simon fished out a dog collar from his jacket pocket - one similar to Negan’s - and proceeded to secure it around Rick’s neck in a clear indication of ownership. Next came the chain leash, which Simon attached to the collar and wrapped the other end around the pipes that protruded from the wall, snapping a padlock through the links. With a joker’s grin, Simon knelt down beside the still man and petted Rick on the head, the action simultaneously affectionate and sinister, but most of all - _majorly fucking creepy_.

“Looky what I got,” Simon crooned, showing off his latest triumph, giving Negan a smug, accomplished look like he had just plopped down a winning poker hand of all aces. 

“Did you just walk into Alexandria and kidnap their leader?” Negan questioned, thinking Simon was even crazier than he thought. And Simon was at stir-fried batshit psycho levels of insanity as it was. “You don’t think his people might have a problem with that? That they’re not going to start a war over that shit?”

“Nah, there’s not gonna be a problem,” Simon dismissed. “I’ll just tell them that we had car troubles on our way to the Sanctuary, got surrounded by the dead and Rick got ripped apart limb from limb ‘til there was nothing left. I, of course, tried to save him but barely got away with my life.” Simon shook his head morosely in phony grief. “A damn tragedy, it was.”

“And they’re going to buy that weak ass story?”

“Sure, they got no reason not to,” Simon replied. “They’ll believe me just like everyone believed me when I told them that you were dead, which by the way, everyone seemed to take very well,” he goaded, shooting Negan an insufferable smirk.

Negan flushed with hot anger at the thought that Simon had successfully usurped his power. “I swear to God, Simon, I will fucking kill you, rip your head off and jam it up your ass so far you’ll be able to taste what you had for breakfast.”

Simon could only laugh aloud at Negan’s sad attempt to threaten him. It was actually kinda cute, the way Negan thought he had any control over anything anymore.

“You don’t scare me, Negan, not anymore,” Simon chided, as he stepped back to observe the pair.

Rick was still out like a light, lying face down with a cheek smashed against the cold floor, slow steady breaths escaping him. No doubt he was dreaming about being safe and sound back at home, warm and cozy in the loving arms of his adoring people. Well, he was about to have a rude awakening and it was going to be hilarious as fuck.

“Hey, do I at least get a potty break,” Negan asked, “'cause I really gotta go. Or do I just piss and shit all over the floor for you to clean up?” 

Simon regarded him cautiously as he grabbed hold of his gun and unholstered it. “Yeah. There’s a porta-potty out back,” he spit out, raising the gun and pointing it at Negan’s head. “But you make one wrong move and it’ll be your brains on the floor.”

He slowly made his way behind Negan and crouched down, pressing the gun barrel against the back of Negan’s head, showing that he meant business. He untied the ropes with his free hand and unfastened the collar. Standing up, he moved in front of Negan, never once dropping his guard. “Okay, get up. Slowly,” he instructed, watching closely as Negan did so.

“Walk,” Simon directed, jerking his head in the direction of the back exit. “If you turn around, I shoot. If you run, I shoot. So don't try anything funny.”

Negan started walking towards the doors with Simon trailing close behind, gun trained square on his back. They marched outside into the chilled autumn breeze with the sun descending into the backdrop. A blue, full-sized porta-potty stall stood just outside the exit - the kind you saw at constructions sites or at outdoor venues and music festivals, where hordes of concert-goers with bursting bladders lined up to use these piss-splattered turd receptacles that were always out of hand sanitizer. 

“I’ll be waiting here,” Simon stated pointedly. “Don’t take too long.”

Negan shot him a dirty look as he entered the confined enclosure. Christ, Simon was a bossy little fuck. Negan looked around the space and the drab polyethylene plastic walls – it was plain and nothing special, and certainly no objects were lying around to use as a weapon. There were a few rolls of toilet paper that Simon had placed there, that same kind they had at the Sanctuary. Simon had obviously been planning this for a long time, if small details like toilet paper were thought out in advance. _What a sick fucking psycho_.

He had to get out of there and kill Simon, and now was his best chance of doing so, being temporarily unrestrained. But without a weapon, he was pretty much fucked. He’d have to think outside the box, so to speak.

After using the toilet, Negan stood staring at the stall door with its shoddy little latch and plastic handle. He knew Simon was waiting just outside with a gun in hand, waiting for Negan to come out so he can be chained back up for Simon's sicko fantasies. Nope, that just wasn't going to do. That wasn't going to do _at all_.  

Negan placed a hand on the door handle and jiggled it, then jiggled it harder. “Hey, Simon, the fuck is wrong with this door?” he shouted, roughly shaking the handle. “It’s stuck.” He repeatedly slammed the palm of his other hand against the door, making an angry racket. “Did you fucking lock me in here?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Simon yelled from the outside. “Stop fucking around or I’m gonna get pissed!” 

“Shit, Simon, get me out of here!” Negan continued to bang on the door, supposedly stuck inside.

Simon stormed over and was now on the other side of the door, trying to pull it open but was met with resistance. On the inside, Negan pulled inwards on the handle to prevent Simon from opening the door in a bizarre game of porta-potty tug-o-war. 

“This isn’t fucking funny, Negan!” Simon shouted as he tried to wrench the door open, perplexed and agitated at why it wasn't budging. Gritting his teeth and getting fed up, he thought about shooting out the latch as he continued to wrestle with it. “Goddamn it, I swear I’m gonna-“

_*Wham!*_

Negan suddenly and violently burst through, body-slamming the door into an unexpecting Simon, the force flinging him backwards onto the ground, gun flying out of his hand. Negan immediately dove on top of him, throwing two vicious punches to Simon’s face, with every intention of savagely beating him to death and not stopping until Simon was a nothing but a pile of squishy hamburger meat. 

_Fuck!_ Simon was stunned stupid for a moment in this shocking turn of events before getting his wits together and managed to block Negan’s next punch. He drove his knee up, forcefully colliding with his attacker's stomach, throwing Negan off him. Both men scrambled to their feet, kicking up a cloud of dirt and dust, snarling like feral animals. _It was game on!_

They circled like sharks, wild-eyed and disheveled, teeth bared and ready to rumble. Simon lunged forward, slamming Negan into the brick wall of the building and delivering a solid blow to Negan’s left eye. Negan returned a brutal right hook into Simon’s jaw, then pummeled him square in the gut, sending Simon toppling backwards on his ass. And then they were both on the ground again in a knock-down-drag-out battle royale, kicking and beating the living daylights out of each other, both desperately fighting for the upper hand. 

While Negan was likely the better fighter, Simon could take a hit like nobody's business, but there was so much he could take. Simon clocked Negan in the jaw and was gifted an excruciating punch to his ribs in return, making him wheeze and sputter. Trying to fend off Negan’s perpetual rain of fury, Simon was in a world of hurt as he fought for his life. He knew there was no way in hell that Negan would allow him to live after any of this awful shit he’d pulled. No one died a pretty death at Negan’s hands, and it horrified Simon to think of what hideous, atrocious fate would befall him should he lose this fight.

The ultimate game stopper was getting to that damned gun, and they both knew it. Simon made an attempt, rolling away from Negan and towards the firearm that sat only feet away, but Negan grabbed him by his bloodied shirt and yanked him back. Negan tried for the gun himself, only to get tripped up by Simon. 

The gun laid passively on the ground, so close yet _so fucking far_ , as if it was mocking them, saying, _‘I’m right here, come and get me already!’_ The last of the sun’s rays reflected off the silvery metal, making it glow golden like it was some ethereal, otherworldly object – the motherfuckin’ Holy Grail – gifting everlasting life to he who possesses it, and a shitty ass death to the other guy.

The beatdown continued on, fists flying and blood splattering on each other until neither knew whose blood was whose. Simon could feel himself fading against Negan’s relentless quest to turn Simon inside out like a knitted sock puppet. Each whack to the face made his vision go blurry and his head spin. Negan was an unstoppable rage machine, and Simon didn’t know how much longer he could hold on. The next few moments were going to be crucial. Something was going to give. It was now do or die.

Making a Hail Mary play, Simon darted away and dove for the gun but fell short by only inches as Negan snagged him by the ankle. Belly scraping the ground and bloody hands clawing the dirt, Simon willed his arms to grow longer as he stretched for the pistol so hard it felt like his muscles were ripping from the tendons. Negan was sprawled behind him, holding him back with a bone-crushing grip clamped down on Simon’s calf like a rabid demon dog with lockjaw. 

Desperately mustering up his last bit of strength, Simon brought up his free leg and landed a swift, heavy boot to the side of Negan’s head, causing the man to lose his hold.

Scrambling free, Simon snatched up the gun.

It was over.

Simon scampered to his feet, pointing the gun at a defeated Negan, who sat on the ground breathing heavily and giving Simon the dirtiest, hate-filled look imaginable. Simon gulped large intakes of oxygen, lungs heaving painfully, feeling like they would burst like cheap birthday balloons. He wiped crimson off his face with the back of his free hand and willed his pounding heart to slow the fuck down. _Holy fucking shit, that was close_. Glancing down at the front of his own pants, he checked to make sure he hadn’t pissed himself.

“I gotta say, Negan,” Simon said in between labored breaths, “I’m impressed. You managed to get the drop on me, but I guess today’s just not your lucky day.” Simon’s taunting words were followed by a shaky, nervous laugh as he gripped the gun tighter in his outstretched hand as if it could fly away again. “Can’t blame you for trying, though. But it ain’t gonna happen again. I’m wise to your tricks now, Negan. You try anything like that again and I won’t hesitate to put a round between your eyes. We clear on that?”

Negan stared into the barrel of the pistol without a single ounce of fear or concern, then shifted his gaze to Simon’s battered face, a palette full of cuts and bruises that he had proudly inflicted. “As long as I got to knock the shit out of your sorry, pathetic ass, I’m good,” Negan sneered.

Simon scoffed through split lips but couldn’t help but admire the massive set of brass balls on the guy. Either Negan wasn’t afraid to die or he knew that Simon wouldn’t kill him. Truth be told, Simon wasn’t going to kill Negan unless he absolutely had to. He had planned this for far too long and had put in too much effort for everything to implode on the first day. Yeah, he knew Negan wouldn’t go down easy so early on, but pretty soon he’d be mewling at Simon’s feet like a sad, weak kitten, and Simon relished the thought of watching that inevitable transformation.

“Get up,” Simon ordered.

Minutes later, Negan was returned to his position, chained up and wrists bound tightly behind his back again, knuckles still stained with Simon’s blood. Negan was looking pretty roughed up as well - he’d be sporting a nasty shiner for quite a while. But even with the abrasions and darkening purple-black bruises, Negan somehow still looked hot as fuck, which suited Simon just fine and dandy.

Crisis averted now that Negan was safely restrained once more, Simon started feeling that confident arrogance again as he re-holstered his gun. Holy shit, he had actually won a fight against Negan. Again, his winning streak was unbelievable. Some divine power or cosmic force of nature must be smiling down on him to be this goddamned lucky.

Simon strutted the floor with a haughty air of superiority, wondering if he should punish Negan for the stunt he pulled, or if the humiliation of losing to Simon was punishment enough. Regardless, he would have to give Negan an earful on acceptable behavior and proper etiquette, lecture him on the finer points of obedience, and Simon was about to do just that.

It was then that Rick started to stir. Simon shot his attention to the waking man with delicious, eager anticipation.

_Aww, yeah, here we go!_

 


	6. Chapter 6

Rick groaned miserably, sluggishly sliding his eyes open, then squeezing them shut again as he noticed he was face-planted against a hard surface. A splitting pain throbbed in his temple like he took a battering ram to the skull. Did he fall down and hit his head, he wondered, mind whirling in dazed confusion. Trying to use his arms to push himself off the ground, Rick quickly found that he couldn’t move them, shocking him into full wakefulness.

Jerking his head up, he flopped around like a stranded fish, struggling haphazardly in his bonds until he rolled onto his side. An unsettling coldness crept into his bones as his chest clenched tightly in fear. “W-what is this?” he rasped to himself in a panicky stammer, before realizing he wasn’t alone. A long pair of legs stood in front of him and Rick’s eyes nervously traveled up the imposing figure until his sights landed on what looked like Simon, face bloodied and grisly with a wide set of grinning teeth leering down at him giddily like some psychotic maniac straight out of a horror film.

Rick blinked harshly, shaking his head, trying to banish the terrible vision from his eyes. This wasn’t reality. It had to be a dream, a very bad, unfunny dream he would surely wake up from at any moment. Or maybe this was a grand hallucination caused by his head trauma, the blow to his skull stirring his brains into scrambled eggs. His malfunctioning mind was conjuring up insane, nonsensical shit that would go away if he shut his eyes and wished them away hard enough.

Then Rick remembered, a flood of memories hitting him like a sack of hammers – getting in the car with Simon, the car breaking down, looking under the hood to find nothing the matter. And now, here he was. This _wasn’t_ a dream. _Oh, shit._

Tearing his sights away from Simon’s ghastly visage, his eyes darted around his surroundings, trying to figure out where the hell he was. He was in some kind of expansive, empty complex, an old industrial building of sorts. It was glum and dank with an eerily sinister vibe.

His frantic gaze landed on another man sitting a ways away to Rick’s left, and he had to squint to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. It was Negan, who was looking at Rick with the most dismal expression, who was wrist-bound and chained to the wall by the neck…and who was in a certain state of undress. And to Rick’s ever growing horror as he looked down at himself, he realized he mirrored Negan’s exact condition.

Everything was ridiculous and impossible. Not one thing made an iota of sense whatsoever. Things were getting more insane by the second and Rick still couldn’t grasp the fact that any of it was real. He looked back and forth between Negan and Simon, now noticing the blood and bruises on both of them - more befuddling oddities he wasn’t privy to understanding.

“Hey, Rick!” Simon’s voice sliced loud and startling through the void of empty space between them. “Allow me to be the first to say - Welcome!” Simon smiled broadly, spreading out the palms of his hands in a parody of greeting.

Rick stared frozen at Simon like a frightened rabbit peering into the jaws of a wolf. The jubilant tone and manner Simon displayed was in stark contrast to the grimness surrounding them. “Wh-wha, what…,” Rick faltered, throat closing up, hardly able to squeeze out anything coherent.

Simon laughed, braying like a deranged donkey, vastly entertained by Rick’s fear and suffering. The mocking noise echoed off the floor and walls and Rick shivered at the cruelty of it. The laughter rung piercing in his ears, obnoxious and belittling, slapping horrid reality full in his face as Simon continued to derive humor from his misfortune.

“What’s going on?” Rick growled, finally finding his voice. He shuffled upright onto his knees, glaring up at his captor. “What the hell is this place?”

Simon settled down, mouth stretched a mile wide in a never-ending grin. “Whelp, I suppose I should bring you up to speed on things,” he started, looming tall and mighty over his captive. “This is your new home now, Rick, and you and Negan over there, are going to be roomies. And I’m the new leader of the Saviors. Yep, that’s right.”

Rick could only blink stupidly, trying to process the nonsense that just came out of Simon’s mouth.

“You came along at just the right time,” Simon continued. “You see, at first, my plans were only for Negan. I was going to stick him in here all by his lonesome. But then you showed up, Rick, and I decided I had to let you in on the fun. Aren’t you the lucky one?”

“Why?” Rick croaked out. “Why me?”

Simon started to pace in front of Rick, slow deliberate steps in an arrogant swagger. “You may not know this, Rick, but you and Negan have a lot in common,” he said. “The size of your ego could overflow the Grand Canyon. You think you know what’s the best for everyone, standing on your golden pedestal that others built for you.”

Rick was taken aback by this judgment. “You don’t know _anything_ about me,” Rick hissed in anger, “not a goddamned thing!”

“I may not know you personally,” Simon said, “but I know the type of person you are, and you’re all the same. Got all your people wrapped around your little finger, following you to the ends of the Earth. You can do no wrong in their eyes, all because you got a pretty face.”

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Rick growled.

“Sure I do. I mean, look at you,” Simon scoffed. “You got your people in the position they’re in now, because you thought it was a genius idea to raid one of our outposts and slaughter everyone in there. And your people just went along with it, didn’t they? Didn’t even question it. Like dumbfuck lemmings following you off a cliff.

“And then two of your buddies got their heads busted open like watermelons and now all of Alexandria has to cough up half their shit on a weekly basis, all because of _you_ ,” Simon stressed, pointing a blaming finger at Rick. “And even after all that, even after all the shit you put them through, they still follow you, don’t they? They still look at you with stars in their fucking eyes, like the smitten little groupies they are.”

Rick burned with fury, shaking his head at the gall Simon had at making these assumptions. “No. It’s _not_ – it’s not like that _at all_.”

Simon didn’t give a crap what Rick had to say. “Everyone loves you, no matter what you do, no matter how much you actually suck,” he rattled on without stopping. “And you don’t even realize it, you don’t see it because that’s the way it’s been your whole life. I’ve seen it time and time again, people like you always getting coddled while others like me get diddly squat.

“People always followed you. Yeah, bet you were pretty popular back in high school, weren’t you?” Simon quizzed, “Pretty boy like you must’ve had all the friends and girlfriends and boyfriends you wanted. They just flocked to you without any effort on your part at all. Everything so goddamn easy.”

A loud scoffing noise came from sidelines. “Oh, for fucks sake, Simon, not that shit again,” Negan interrupted.

_“Shut Up!”_ Simon exploded at Negan before turning his attention back to Rick to continue the admonishments. “It was only a matter of time before someone knocked you off your damn perch, Rick.”

“You’re fucking _insane_ ,” Rick growled furiously. “You’re a sick, demented lunatic!” he spat, words punctuated with revulsion and disgust. But it was useless. There was no reasoning, persuading or shaming this psychotic madman.

Simon chuckled amusingly, immune to such petty insults. “Aw, what’s the matter, Rick? Not used to being looked down on, are you?” he teased, using his impressive height to tower over a cut-down Rick, driving his point home.

Rick was practically trembling with rage, and the sight was glorious to behold and super sexy as all get out. Simon’s ego swelled with gratification, drunk with power and grandeur…and that wasn’t all that was swelling. Simon could feel his pants growing tighter and he planted himself directly in front of Rick, standing with legs spread apart, flagrantly sticking his hips forward, making sure Rick got a real good gander of what he had brewing.

It was downright comical to watch Rick’s eyes widen in panic and horror while trying desperately to maintain his defiant composure in the face of Simon’s ballooning crotch. Rick had woken up to a nightmare alright, and the nightmare was getting worse every single second.

Sure was quite the contrast from the indifferent Rick who ignored him during the car ride earlier. Now that he had Rick’s full fucking attention, it was time for freshman orientation.

“So here’s how things are gonna work,” Simon informed him. “I’ll offer you the same arrangement that I worked out with Negan.”

“We didn’t work out any ‘arrangement’, you absolute shitfuck,” Negan hissed.

“Shut the fuck up!” Simon yelled at the second interruption. Regaining his composure, he focused back on Rick again. “When you need something, want something, you ask me for it. But first, I’ll need to get something from _you_. After all, I gotta be compensated for my troubles, don’t I?” He swayed his pelvis ever so crudely in front of Rick’s line of sight, the protruding tent of his pants stretched taunt, making quite clear what kind of ‘compensation’ Simon meant.

Rick felt sick, jaw clenching and adam’s apple bobbing nervously, trying to hold down the bile that was threatening to spout out of him like a busted fire hydrant. “Whatever it is you want, you won’t get it from me,” Rick managed a shaky proclamation, but it sounded small and frail - a mouse’s squeak attempting to fend off an intruding viper.

Simon clucked his tongue in a mocking rebuke. “Won’t I? I have all the leverage here, Rick. May I remind you that you have _nothing_. So it would be in your best interest to work with me, isn’t that right?”

After a few priceless moments of watching Rick squirm with dread and anxiety, Simon stepped back and moved away until he was at equidistance between Rick and Negan, much to Rick’s relief. Standing tall with a cocky stance - quite literally - he cleared his throat.

“So I’ve been thinking about it, and I think I’ve come up with a fair exchange system,” Simon announced, lecturing the whole room with a pompous flair. “For food and water, a blowjob will be sufficient,” he stated, “however, _quality will matter_. What food you get will depend on how well you suck me off. So if you’re not fancying a bowl of Purina Dog Chow, then you‘d better be dazzling me with some top notch cock sucking skills, understood?” Simon smirked knowing he was being a jackass and he reveled in every second of it. “And as for any non-food items - clothes, blankets, knee pads, what have you...well, taking it in the ass should do the job, subject to availability and my discretion, of course.”

Simon’s brazen smile shone bright and large as he took in the audience reception. The hateful glower Rick was giving could singe a fucking hole through his head. And Negan wasn’t even looking at him, being rudely dismissive of everything he just said. _Jesus, what a tough crowd._

His pants were getting uncomfortably tight. “Looks like I’m getting too big for my britches,” Simon joked, glancing down at his straining hotrod. He lewdly palmed himself through the fabric of his pants, the hot sight of his two captives on their knees fueling his wanton fantasies. “I think ‘little Simon’ wants to come out and join the party! Shall we let him?” Undoing his belt and zipping down his fly, he grinned wildly, taking note of the reactions. Negan petulantly rolled his eyes in an ‘ _oh god, not again_ ’ kinda way, while Rick looked like he was about to throw up all over himself.

Relieved from its confines, ‘little Simon’ sprang out like a perverted jack-in-a-box, saluting and waving to a trapped audience. Simon soaked in the picturesque view of his captives, both on their knees, scantily dressed and bound in place, looking like matching bookends. How long had he dreamed of this moment, imagined this scene, spanked off in bed to the very image that was in front of him now? The reality was shit tons better than anything he could have conjured in his mind.

“Goddamn, look at you two,” Simon exclaimed, wrapping a hand around his seeping boner. “This is just the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. _Shit!_ ” He was riding high on his arousal, drunk with horniness as he gave himself a few firm strokes. “You have no idea how many times I’ve jacked off while thinking of you two,” he freely and shamelessly admitted. “I mean, _at least_ twice a day, usually more, ever since the day I met you,” he bragged, pointing at Negan. “Yeah, that’s right. And then when you came along,” Simon added, turning to Rick, “shit, I thought my dick would fall off with the extra times I was whacking it per day.

“You wanna know what I’d think about?” Simon asked like he was telling a naughty secret, his head swirling with all his sordid fantasies. There was no response as the room fell silent, Rick and Negan having given up on voicing their futile objections and insults. There was nothing they could say that would stop Simon from his obscene diatribe.

Laying it all bare, Simon described in lurid detail everything he wanted to do to each of them. Every dirty wish. Every filthy fantasy. He unabashedly depicted his perverse thoughts with his cock in hand while his unfortunate prisoners had to sit there mortified, listening in burning embarrassment and feeling verbally violated.

“And lately, I’ve had a new thought for the ole spank bank,” Simon divulged with a devious grin. “Both of you on your knees, right down in front of me, taking turns sucking my cock and choking it down like a couple of champs. Fuck, that’d be _so hot_. You two fighting over who gets to take my load like a game of blowjob musical chairs. _Shit_ , I could pop my cork right now just thinking about it.” Clutching his dick at the base, he pointed the crude appendage back and forth between Rick and Negan, pantomiming the indecent scenario. “What do you say, boys? Wanna give it a go, do some sausage swappin’? Come on now, I’ll even give you both a full day’s worth of food and water, ‘cause I’m generous like that.”

The icy, hostile silence he received was thicker than Fat Joey’s waistline.

“Too soon? Alright, I know you both had a bad day, so I’ll accept a raincheck,” Simon offered the lackluster crowd, cheeky and sardonic. “But I can’t waste this perfectly good hard-on, can I?” He started fisting his cock fervently in full view, getting off on the exhibitionism and the startled reactions it induced. Purposely working his way into Rick’s space, he beat his meat at breakneck speed, and Rick blanched predictably, all color draining from his face.

“Wait, w-what are you doing? Stop that!” Rick blurted in panic as Simon closed in, manhandling himself with tenacious gusto. Rick shuffled back towards the wall, but it wouldn’t make a lick of difference. There was no escape from this escalating nightmare. He could only watch in abject horror as Simon neared closer and closer to impact, like watching a train wreck in slow motion, knowing exactly what will happen but utterly powerless to stop it.

Simon stood over Rick and laughed sadistically, not letting up his frenzied pace. Rick had the most hilarious scared deer-in-headlights expression ever. “I don’t know why you guys get so freaked out by this,” Simon grunted, nearing climax, “I mean, I’m not even touching you!” With a final rough tug, he let loose, spasming as he lurched his hips forward. _“Ahh, fuck!”_

With nowhere to go, Rick could only duck his head down to the floor as Simon made it rain on Rick’s back, a perverted christening ceremony with the unholiest of elixirs.

Letting out a loud, gratified moan, Simon shook off the last drop, amused by Rick’s anguished writhing like a burn victim. “You two need to stop being so damn squeamish,” Simon chided, zipping up, “’cause you’re gonna get regular dousings of Simon’s special sauce from here on out. Better get used to it, I’m just sayin’.”

By now, the last rays of light had disappeared as the warehouse faded into darkness. With no other source of light available, visibility was dwindling to mere shapes and outlines.

“Well, I’d like to stay longer,” Simon imparted, straightening out his trousers, “but it’s getting too dark to see you guys, so I'm gonna get going. I still got things to do.”

“Wait, you – you're going to just leave us here?” Rick asked in disbelief. Surely, even as horrid as Simon was, he wouldn’t make them sleep tied up on the floor in this cold, drafty warehouse clad only in their underwear, right?

Simon’s malicious smile gleamed even in the dark. “Well, yeah. But don't you worry. I'll be back tomorrow, and then we can talk about how we can make your stay a little cozier,” he suggested with a leer. “’Cause I know I’m gonna be sleeping cozy tonight when I move into that snazzy bedroom of yours, Negan,” he added, can’t help getting in one last dig at his former boss, to remind him of everything’s he’s lost. “Hey, do you think any of your now ex-wives are gonna want to keep me company tonight, their new hubby? Which one should I go for first, Negan? Got any suggestions?”

“None of them are going to fuck you, Simon, you enormous sack of shit,” Negan replied in a rancorous hiss. “My girls like real men, not a failed freak who’s so unfuckable he can only get his dates by kidnapping them, and then whacks off on them like a sorry creep-ass loser.”

Simon smirked in spite of the insult. “We’ll just see about that,” he said simply, only pleased that he could rile Negan up before leaving. Negan was only a chained-up attack dog that couldn’t do shit but bark back in useless frustration, knowing that Simon had taken away all his bones and chew toys. Good, let him stew in the emptiness of having exactly jack shit and maybe Negan will decide to be more receptive to the potential goodies Simon could provide him.

And Rick had a stunned, pitiful look, his whole body wanting to jump out of its skin to escape this hell. He was still uncomprehending of the fact that he had to stay here, far away from home and friends. Good, maybe a little separation anxiety will make Rick grateful when Simon returned to pat him on the head, more eager to accept Simon’s attention, acts of kindness and some Simon-style TLC.

All at a meager price, of course.

“Well, you two have a good night now,” Simon snidely finished, turning on his heel to leave. Whistling a happy tune as he left, the beat of his heavy footfalls grew farther and subsided as he sauntered to the exit, slamming the door shut with a final, echo-y clang.

Rick and Negan were now alone in the chilly, miserable darkness.

It was going to be a very long night.

_A long, cold and shitty night._


	7. Chapter 7

When the door slammed shut and the faint roar of a car engine faded away, all that remained was the deadened, black air of silence. Their tormentor was gone for now, but they knew he’d be back worse than ever.

It was mindboggling to Rick that Simon had orchestrated this, had flown under the radar all this time, that Negan had someone like this so high up in his ranks and never knew how fucked up he was.

“What the hell, Negan?” Rick grumbled, words rippling through the dark. “Did you know he was like this? Did you know he would do this?” Rick could barely make out the outline of Negan’s shadowy shape, but he could feel the tight bridge of tension between them as they sat anchored in place some twenty feet apart.

“Why, no, Rick. I, in fact, did not know that my most trusted lieutenant was a stark raving, perverted psychopath who was plotting to turn us into his sex slaves,” was Negan’s very sarcastic reply. “But it sure would’ve been fantastic if I had known, though.”

The blunt statement drove home the absurd and horrific reality they were now faced with. A dreadful chill shot up Rick’s spine as he tried to process it. “Why is he doing this? What is _wrong_ with him?” He hardly even knew Simon yet Simon had somehow decided to target Rick to fulfill his sick, depraved desires.

“Well, from I gather,” Negan responded, “is that Simon’s an asshurt loser who couldn’t get laid in high school and he’s taking it out on us, because apparently, we’re the embodiment of everyone in his life he could never fuck.” There was a pause of silence and then a harsh, regretful sigh. “Shit, I should’ve wrung his bony chicken neck like a washcloth when I had the chance.”

“You two fought?”

“Who do you think rearranged his face? It was right before you woke up.”

“He untied you?”

“Yeah, he took me to the shitter out in the back. I managed to knock his gun away and beat the ever loving crap outta him.”

“But I take it that the fight didn’t pan out the way you wanted.”

“No fucking shit. A mighty astute observation there, Rick. You’ll make detective yet.”

Rick squeezed his eyes shut. Here he was, trapped in the darkest bowels of hell, and with Negan of all people. But even though the company was less than ideal, at least Rick wasn’t alone in this. He supposed that having someone there was better than no one at all.

“I told some people that I was going with Simon to the Sanctuary,” Rick said hopefully, “Maybe they’ll find Simon and confront him. Maybe they’ll figure out where I am.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t count on that.”

“Why not?”

“Simon’s on his way right now to tell your people that you’re dead. Got himself a fun story all lined up. He’s giving you a brutal death while making himself look like a hero. Whattaguy, huh?”

Rick felt gutted, his last bits of hope promptly extinguished like a soggy cigarette butt. Not only was there no help coming, his heart wrenched at the thought of his kids’ faces at being told of his false demise. Simon was such a skilled liar he could actually get away with it.

Desperately, Rick fought against his bonds. In the pitch black darkness, Negan could hear the signs of Rick’s struggles - labored hisses, metallic rattling, back and forth shuffling, under-the-breath curses. Negan wanted to tell Rick to just fucking stop it, that it was useless, that he had spent the entire day doing exactly what Rick was doing now. But Negan didn’t say anything. Rick had to find out for himself that there was no busting out of this shithole.

Finally after some ungodly amount of time, Rick quit and fell motionless, exhausted. The resulting silence was pretty sad and soul-crushing.

Wallowing in defeat and despair, Rick shivered in the cold of the night as the wind whipped in through the one broken window of the warehouse, goose-pimples rising all over his skin. He could see nothing and all he could hear was his own fatigued breathing and an internal thudding dull in his ears.

“Negan?” he called out into the black, dead air.

“Yeah, Rick?” came the reply a moment later.

The voice out of the darkness was a strange relief, a reminder and confirmation that there was still someone else here in this void of nothingness.

“How are we going to get out of here?” Rick asked. “We need to come up with a plan.”

“The only way is to get Simon’s gun away from him,” Negan answered, contrite and wary. “But I already tried that. Simon’s a total whack job but he’s not stupid. He won’t fall for that shit again.”

“There’s got to be a way.”

“When you figure it out, you let me know, ‘kay?” Negan’s words lacked their trademark bite, instead sounding cynically despondent. He knew he had blown his best chance to kill Simon during that fight – he had come so goddamn _close_ , but close only counted in horseshoes and grenades, not escaping from deranged sex maniacs.

Seeming to sense this malaise, Rick replied back, “Look, I know we don’t exactly get along, but we’re in the same boat here. We have to figure it out together if we’re going to get out of this. You can’t just give up.”

“You can spare me the pep talk, Rick. I’m not turning belly up. If I could gnaw off my own foot to get the fuck out of here, I’d happily do it.”

“Good. So let’s come up with something.”

Brainstorming escape plans with their nemesis wasn’t exactly what either of them had envisioned doing on their Saturday night. But surely, two experienced leaders such as themselves could devise a brilliant strategy to defeat Simon, to exploit his weaknesses and pull the wool over his eyes. Certainly, they could concoct a bold and daring masterful plan in which both Rick and Negan came out unscathed and home in time the next day for tea and crumpets.

But as the night wore on, the temperature plummeted, dropping faster than Simon’s pants, becoming harder to think straight. Eventually, they had to shelve their strategy session, not being able to rub two brain cells together as they were too busy shivering and freezing their balls off.

Sleep was impossible. They tried to curl into themselves but any kind of relief was unachievable. There was no respite from the cold and no comfort to be drawn from the bare, concrete floor.

This was as bad as it gets and exactly how Simon wanted it.

 

* * *

 

In the morning, Simon cruised down the road, drumming on the steering wheel and singing a jaunty off-key tune, happier than a clam on Prozac on Christmas morning. He couldn’t wait to see how Negan and Rick fared during the night, if they were as miserable as Simon imagined them to be.

Simon, on the other hand, had an excellent night.

After he had left the warehouse, he had driven back to Alexandria to deliver the tragic news of Rick’s horrific, gruesome and super messy death. As predicted, the hapless saps bought it, amongst much gnashing of teeth, wailing and tears. Simon had stood there, sharing in their sorrow, recounting in harrowing detail the brave fight against a horde of the dead until they were overwhelmed, and how Rick – poor fucking Rick - became a tasty smorgasbord for the hungry, ravenous masses.

Yeah, people were that gullible. Coating his face and clothes with the blood of a dead guy before he got there was a nice touch – it made him look less like he was in a fistfight with a person, and more like an epic battle with an army of corpses. And if any of those dopey Alexandrians wanted to check his story, well, there was plenty of evidence after Simon had strewn ripped up and bloodied fragments of Rick’s clothing along the red-stained road where the supposed tragedy occurred. It was that kind of attention to detail that elevated a plain lie to legendary lore status.

And when Simon returned to the Sanctuary, everyone had turned to look at him as he walked in the door. Some had started to drop to their knees but stopped midway, unsure of what the correct protocol was now. Simon had grinned and gestured for them to kneel, and everyone did so immediately as Simon confidently passed through the throng.

Stopping in front of a young, low-level savior, Simon regarded him with a newfound authority. “Stand up, son.”

The savior slowly stood, not saying a word.

“Who are you?” Simon asked pointedly.

Confusion flitted across the man’s face, unsure how to answer and frightened of getting it wrong. “Um…I’m…N-nnn-,” he started to pronounce, evoking from Simon a cocked eyebrow and disapproving glare. The savior started over again, “I’m…S-sss,” he sounded hesitantly, this time getting a nod to continue. “I’m Simon?”

“That’s right, son,” Simon loudly praised, smiling broadly, glancing around the room to make sure everyone had heard. “That’s right.”

The only chink in the night was when Simon visited the wives’ lounge, expecting to see all those pretty ladies lined up waiting for him. Instead, it was full of sour faces and an emptied-out bar.

“Come on, nothing’s changed,” Simon had argued to the group. “The arrangement is still the same!”

“The arrangement was with Negan, not _you_ ,” scoffed the redhead. She stood from the couch and walked past Simon and out the door. One by one, each woman followed suit, filing out of the lounge and back to the workfloor from whence they came.

Turned out Negan was right. Simon wouldn’t tell him that, though.

Disappointing, but Simon didn’t let it bother him too much. He didn’t need those worthless broads anyway. He had Negan and Rick, and they were all Simon needed to fulfill every single one of his wanton desires. Yep, his cock was going to be plenty occupied, wives or no wives. No doubt about it.

Simon’s balls tingled as he leaned harder on the accelerator, his blood and car both rushing towards their respective destinations.

His pets needed him and he mustn't keep them waiting.

 

* * *

 

When the first rays of light broke through the warehouse, it was both a blessing and a curse. The darkness lifted and the temperature rose to something barely tolerable. But Simon would be back at some unspecified time and that was enough to wish the sun had never come up. It was Day Two of this excruciating agony, a continuous horror show with their own real-life boogeyman on the loose somewhere out there, likely heading his way back to traumatize them some more.

As the room lightened, Rick and Negan could see each other.

And they both looked like shit.

It was the most miserable night either of them ever had to endure. Bones ached from lying on the hard floor all night, sleep deprived eyes red and sunken, skin pallid and dry from the cold and dehydration.

“I could use some fucking coffee right now,” Negan muttered, raggedly bleak with his throat as dry as the ass leather of a desert tortoise.

“When do you think he’ll be back?” Rick rasped, as if speaking the name out loud would summon the demon from the very pits of hell.

“Probably in a few hours,” Negan guessed, “he was here yesterday sometime mid-morning.”

Rick’s stomach churned at the thought of facing Simon so soon. “What are we going to do? We’ve got to think of something.”

“Well, what can we do?” Negan countered, “Everything we thought of ends up with us getting shot,”

Rick hung his head, acknowledging that fact. His hands felt numb and cold behind his back. Rick clenched and unclenched his fists, stretched out his fingers, trying to bring circulation back into them. His wrists were chafed and sore against the ropes and Rick weakly tugged at them, letting out a frustrated hiss of discomfort.

“If there’s one thing Simon’s good at, it’s tying a knot,” Negan remarked dryly.

“Yeah, I’ll agree to that,” Rick replied. Glancing over, he eyed Negan’s restrained wrists which were tied in an ‘X’ position, a mass of rope binding them tightly in an interlacing weave of loops and coils. Darkened, bruised skin peered out from under the ropes, mirroring Rick’s own failed struggles against them. He eyes lingered on the knot.

_If only..._

“Negan,” Rick breathed thickly, licking his chapped lips. “I think...- I think I have an idea.”

Negan looked over at him with heavily skeptical interest. “Alright, so spill it.”

Rick fell hesitant, staring at a speck of dirt on the floor in front of him. His throat fell frozen and he took a shaky, labored breath. He couldn’t believe what was about to come out of his mouth. “We have to suck Simon’s cock.”

About three seconds of static silence passed before the predictable response. “Real fuckin’ funny, Rick. Never pegged you for a goddamned comedian-“

“Listen-,” Rick snarled, “will you just listen to me?”

“Holy fuck, you’re serious about this shit? I see Simon hit you too hard on that squishy melon of y-“

“Shut up and just listen,” Rick snapped, “If we can get close together, we can reach each other’s ropes. You remember what Simon said he wants us to do? That fantasy he told us about? The one where he wants us in front of him taking turns sucking his cock. If we do that, we can loosen each other’s ropes, loosen them just enough so we can get out of them later when Simon’s gone. This could work, Negan, we could get out of here. It’s worth a shot.”

Rick may have well been sprouting five baby alien heads from his shoulders with the way Negan was looking at him. The look of insurmountable disbelief and revulsion was etched plain on his face.

“Jesus on a stick. What the fuck are you thinking, Rick?”

“I’m thinking about escaping! Getting the hell out of here. It’s what we’re trying to do, isn’t it?”

“I’m not doing it!” Negan railed, “I’m not giving that freak what he wants.”

“Trust me, I hate it just as much as you do,” Rick ardently insisted, “but I don’t see any other way. Every day we’re here makes us thirstier, hungrier and weaker. It’s only a matter of time before we have to give in anyway.”

“Fuck no! I’d rather keel over _dead_ ,” Negan declared in cold, stony defiance, “before I ever give in to him.”

Rick wilted, closing his red-rimmed eyes, drained and exhausted. “I can’t do that, Negan,” he uttered wearily, “I can’t die over my pride. I have to go home, to my kids. I have to be there for them. Carl…and Jude,…they need me. And if,- if there’s a chance to get back to them, any chance at all, then I have to _try_.” He swallowed back a sob that quivered up his throat at the pained thoughts of never seeing his children again. “I have to try,” he repeated, strained and wavering, “but…I can’t do it without your help.”

Lifting his head, he looked over to Negan who was glaring back with something a little less harsh and something more ambivalent. It wasn’t much - a small chip in his massive fortress of hard-headed resistance. But Rick doubted it was enough to change his mind.

“ _Shit,”_ Negan muttered under his breath, looking away. After a moment he turned back. “I’m still not doing it,” he restated, but his tone noticeably lacked the hard edge of only a minute ago.

“Can you just…consider it?” Rick implored in a last ditch effort, not knowing how to interpret the silence he received in response.

 

* * *

 

As the swath of sun moved along the wall of the warehouse, signaling the passage of time, the air turned densely thick with the trepidation of Simon’s impending arrival. They would glance haplessly at the steel double doors of the main entrance, expecting them to fly open at any moment, revealing a grinning, wild-eyed mustachioed pervert.

The waiting ended when the sound of tires screeched outside followed by the thud of a car door slamming. Rick and Negan looked up in unison, eyes glued to the entrance, pulses accelerating. Their next round of torment was to begin momentarily.

They waited, staring at the front doors for a full minute. And waited, each passing second compounding in dread.

And then the back exit blew open with a startling bang.

Jumping out of their skin, Rick and Negan whipped around to see none other than Simon, standing in the back doorway, blinding sunlight pouring all around his tall frame, silhouetting him in an ominous, six-foot-three cut out, making them flinch and squint at the burning brightness.

Simon bounded forward as the doors swung shut behind him. “Mornin’ boys!” he called out, bright-eyed and bushy tailed as he strutted over to the beleaguered pair. He was absolutely gleeful, looking well-rested and full of energy. Even all of yesterday’s damage on his face didn’t dampen his lively mood in the slightest. “So how’d you sleep last night?” Pacing the floor, Simon took stock of them, observing their sad, disheveled state. “Holy shit, you guys look like something the cat dragged in, ate and then puked back up,” he said, supremely amused. “Didn’t sleep a wink, did you?”

The blue and hazel pairs of eyes that peered listlessly back at him, all drained of their spark, told Simon all he needed to know and he beamed, pleased as could be.

“Well, that’s too bad. A real damn shame,” Simon sympathized in words, belied by the huge smile fixed firmly on his face. “So maybe now you’d like to make a deal,” he said, clapping his hands together and rubbing them excitedly. “What can I get you boys? Come on now, I’m takin’ requests.”

Neither Negan nor Rick said a word as Simon glanced back and forth between them. “Must’ve been pretty cold last night,” Simon commented wryly. “Shit, you guys were probably freezing your balls off in here.” He crossed his arms over his chest, making shivering motions. “You know, there’s a cold front coming in and it’s gonna get even colder tonight. Winter’s gonna be here real soon and all that wind and snow is gonna be pouring in through that busted window over there,” he said, pointing to the long row of windows on the far end of the warehouse, one of which was missing a chunk of glass.

“So what will it be,” Simon offered, “Sweater? Coat? Come on, guys, this is your chance. What, not even a pair of earmuffs or a beanie? A throw pillow to sit your butts on?” The shit-eating grin never wavered from Simon’s face. “Just five minutes of my dick in your ass will get you any of that stuff. Now that’s a bargain if I ever heard one!”

Negan and Rick only glared at the overly jovial Simon with unbridled loathing.

These boys were some tough cookies, Simon thought, but cookies crumble - and crumble, they will. He would make sure of it. “Last chance,” he announced. Still receiving no response, he threw up his hands. “Alright, time’s up. I guess it wasn’t that cold here last night after all. Well, let’s fix that, shall we?”

Without warning, Simon unholstered his gun, spinning around on his heel. Firing across the room in quick succession, he shot out each of the intact windows, the sudden loud blasts making Rick and Negan jolt in surprise. Aged slabs of brittle panes shattered in needless destruction and shards rained down like splintered hail, crashing to the floor in a piercing symphony of gunfire and breaking glass.

Rick and Negan exchanged alarmed, confounded glances as Simon finished his freelance demolition work. Every window was now just a destroyed, gaping opening framed with serrated edges. The entire room was now fully exposed to the elements. Simon turned back around, snickering impishly, savoring the disturbed, harried looks on his captives’ faces.

“Now how about that?” Simon beamed, pointing at his handywork with his pistol. “Got yourselves a new A/C system there.” A biting breeze could be keenly felt wafting in, immediately dropping the room temperature by a degree.

“You motherfucking asshole,” Negan growled bitterly.

Simon smirked as he reloaded his gun. “Aw, come now, Negan. You know, you can always ask for your jacket back. That damn thing doesn’t look as good on me anyway,” he teased with a flash of teeth while putting his gun away.

Rick looked devastated and Negan bristled with fury. Simon just scooped up a fresh turd to pile on top of an already overstuffed shit sandwich. They had barely gotten through the night as it was.

“So moving on to the next topic,” Simon proclaimed. “You gotta be getting really hungry by now, right?”

Rick shot Negan a pointed look but Negan ignored it, turning away from Rick’s scrutiny.

“Now I got some real yummy treats for you boys,” Simon drawled, “real good stuff, fresh and hearty that’ll fill you right up, take all that hunger pain away. And best of all, it comes with an appetizer,” he smirked, pointing at his bulging crotch.

Rick and Negan exchanged glares again. A glowering, almost accusatory look in Rick’s eyes bored into Negan, who shot back a contentious, affronted scowl. Rick furrowed into something more urging as Negan balked, jaw clenched in harried pressure. They continued on like that back and forth, arguing with no words, trading silent dialogue between themselves. Simon observed them curiously but as amusing as it was, he was growing impatient. He didn’t have all flippin’ day.

Simon loudly cleared his throat, interrupting the pair out of their noiseless quarrel, snapping them back to attention.

“So what’s it gonna be? Keep going hungry and thirsty?” Simon cajoled, “Or take a visit to Simon’s hot dog stand to earn your meal voucher?” He rubbed himself through his pants, plumping up the goods, ready to whip it out at a moment’s notice.

Rick and Negan remained silent but there was tension in the air, a dense turbulent fog of nerves and uncertainty that bound them as sure and firm as the ropes and chains.

“Negan?” Simon called on first, “What say you?”

Negan had the pissed off look of someone who was at the end of his rope yet refusing to let go, clawing fervently onto those unravelling threads in an elusive attempt to keep his dignity intact. Simon could tell that his resolve was wearing thin as he observed the ripened bruises surrounding Negan’s left eye, an external mirror of his beaten spirit. But still, Negan said nothing, stubborn as a mule on steroids.

Simon moved on to the next contestant. “Rick? How about you, hmm?”

Rick sat quietly seething, biting his tongue with a mopey frown screwed tightly on his face. The gears were turning in his pretty head – Simon could almost hear the squeaky little hamster wheel spinning around in there. Rick also seemed plenty pissed but for a different reason, and Simon guessed it had something to do with that game of charades Rick and Negan were playing earlier.

“What, no takers?” Simon exclaimed. “Well, shit. I guess I’ll just have to spank off on you guys again,” he shrugged casually, undoing his belt buckle, watching as looks of renewed panic filled his captives’ faces. “And this time there will be no ducking or dodging,” Simon strictly ordered, “I’m blasting you full in the face. And my balls are chock full of spunk right now ‘cause I skipped my morning yank. I saved it up for you guys ‘cause that’s how considerate I am.”

“You first, Negan,” Simon said eagerly, digging his hand into his pants. “That black eye of yours could use some salve, and _a lot of it_.” Simon advanced on Negan, who recoiled furiously.

“Shit! Simon-, wait, just wait,” Negan sputtered, a cornered animal stuck in a trap, insides churning into a tight mass of nerves. He couldn’t take it anymore. He exhaled grimly, all fractured ego and wilting resolve, ready to chew off his own foot. “Okay, Simon, what if we were to make a deal?” God, it hurt to say that. It really fucking hurt.

A light sparked in Simon’s eyes as a slow, wily grin expanded across his face. “Go on,” he urged.

Negan hated himself at the moment. And he was going to _really_ hate himself later. Out of the corner of his eye, Negan thought he caught a glimpse of Rick giving him a slight, almost indiscernible nod.

Steeling himself for this conversation, Negan had to dig up the terrible words. “That little double blowjob fantasy of yours - I think ole Rick and I can make your dreams come true,” he said, forcing the words to sound smooth and persuasive but he was dying inside. It was vile and painful, like vomiting battery acid. Every word stung like ripping a band-aid off his nutsack.

Simon looked back and forth between the two, judging their sincerity. “Really? The both of you?” he questioned, hand still stuffed down the front of his pants, frozen there. “Rick?”

Rick grudgingly nodded. “Yeah, I’ll do it,” he huffed out, dry and terse.

“We want a week’s worth of food and water,” Negan declared.

“Whoa, hold on there,” Simon said, “I said _one_ day.”

“Fuck, Simon, are you going to be all hard-assed about this?” Negan argued, “You’re getting the sweet end of this deal and you’re being a tight wad?”

Simon chuckled, shaking his head. “You seem to forget, Negan. I can jack off ‘til the cows come home, but you need to eat. I have the upper hand here in this negotiation. You’ll get one day’s worth and that’s it.”

“Alright, how about four days? Or, you know, we can call the whole thing off,” Negan said, getting a sideways glare from Rick which was promptly ignored.

Simon’s mustache twitched, the frizzy caterpillar riled and fidgety. “Two days.”

Negan looked wholly unimpressed. He glanced over to Rick who was giving him an irritated _‘stop fucking around’_ face. “Two days of food,” Negan conceded, “and four days of water,” he added, determined to get the last word in, even though it didn’t matter since it was all for show. If this plan of Rick’s worked, he would murder Simon so bad there would not be a particle of that ridiculous pornstache left.

“Okay, fine!” Simon shouted, itchy to move on, red hot fire ants marching in his pants. “Now let’s get this show on the road.” Walking behind Rick, he bent down to unlock the chain leash from the wall. “Rick, you’re moving next to Negan.” He led Rick by the leash and plopped him beside Negan, re-securing the chain to the wall.

With Simon’s back still turned, Rick shuffled closer to Negan until they were sitting flushed, sides pressed together, briefly grasping each other’s ropes to see they were easily within reach. This could actually work. _Fuck, it had to._ They gave each other a dour, commiserating look for what they were about to do, but there was no backing out now.

Simon strode to the front of Negan and Rick, towering over and leering down at them with a ravenous grin as his objects of desire stared back up with the harrowed look of sheep facing a meat cleaver. “Holy fuck,” Simon exclaimed, hastily tugging his pants down, “You have no idea how much I’ve thought about this.” Pants and underwear fell bunched up around his legs as his dick leapt forward, a rock-hard flesh formation protruding in front of Rick and Negan’s faces.

Moments of silent awkwardness abounded as Rick and Negan idled in reluctant procrastination. “Well?” Simon lambasted, impatiently snapping his fingers, “Let’s get it going. That dick’s not gonna suck itself.”

Negan shot Rick a sharp look as if to say, _‘You go first, genius. This was your idea.’_

Bracing himself, Rick mustered his nerves, swallowed a deep gulp of air and then took the plunge.

‘ _Holy balls,’_ Negan thought the moment Rick took Simon in his mouth, _‘he’s actually fucking doing it.’_ It was so sick and wrong, so cringingly surreal, but there it was in crass, graphic reality. Above them, Simon had his eyes squeezed shut in feverish ecstasy, grunting like a hog in heat. Negan reached for Rick’s ropes, digging into the knotted mass behind their backs, all the while keeping watch on Simon’s face to make sure he stayed blissfully distracted.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Simon growled as he succumbed to the wet-warm suction of Rick’s ministrations. If he looked down, the very sight of it would make him explode right then and there, and Simon wanted to draw out this fantasy-come-to-life for as long as possible. Cracking a peek, the visual almost made him lose his shit, seeing them both down there, the image scorching his eyeballs like looking directly into the sun it was so fucking hot. He slammed his eyes shut again, stars shooting behind his lids, praying he wouldn’t blow too soon.

After a minute that felt like an eternity, Rick withdrew, a drowning man coming up for life-saving air. Sputtering like he had forced down rancid medicine, Rick reeled from sickness, wondering if this was such a great idea after all. But it was too late now; they had to see this through no matter how torturous it was.

With no choice now, Negan had to dive in, filling the vacancy Rick left and keeping Simon obliviously occupied. It was awful and hurl-inducing as could be and it took every ounce of mental power to keep from chomping off Simon’s cock and rendering him the dickless wonder. But not wishing to earn a bullet to the head, he begrudgingly slogged through it as Rick switched to working on his ropes. Only by imagining Simon’s death in the most grisly and painful ways possible could he keep going.

“ _Aw, goddamn!”_ Simon threw his head back with the new sensation of Negan’s mouth on him, groaning throaty and guttural. It felt better than he expected and he had expected a lot. Negan could give one helluva hate-suck, he'd give him that. It was the world’s angriest blowjob, but ye gods, it was so damn _good_. Simon could feel those teeth grazing dangerously along his pulsating vein, but this only added to his sick thrill.

When Negan couldn't stand it any longer, he passed the baton back to Rick in this twisted relay race. They continued to take turns like that several times, switching roles, one of them on Simon's cock while the other loosened his ropes. They just had to finish before Simon did.

Simon was in la-la land, swimming in a dreamy kaleidoscope of pleasure, too consumed in his own ecstasy to notice what was truly going on. He was the fucking King of All Things now, having two of the hottest men blowing him senseless. He was grabbing onto tufts of their hair, bucking his hips forward as his balls tightened and shifted like tectonic plates about to induce a seismic orgasm.

Rick had lost count how many times they’ve each been “up at bat” – five, six, seven? But after each time he could feel more slack in the ropes to where he thought he could nearly slip free of them. He could tell Simon was close to the grand finale by his erratic thrusts and the way he was grunting like he was having a stroke. Rick released Simon’s cock, sloppy with spit, as he and Negan swapped duties again. Turning his wrists, Rick was almost positive there was enough slack now. Anxiously, he worked on Negan’s ropes, making a little more progress on them, then hastily whispered:

_“That’s it. We’re done.”_

_Fucking finally!_ Negan pulled back harshly, scraping his teeth abrupt and reckless along the length, snagging over the sensitive ridge of the head. It triggered a violent, explosive climax out of Simon, his balls a pair of grenades detonating as his cock fired off rapid bursts of liquid ammo. Rick and Negan ducked in opposite directions, taking cover from the deluge that flew between them.

“ _Fuh—Uhh--Ahh!...”_ Simon wailed like a howler monkey, sputtering half profanities and uncontrolled gibberish as he convulsed, hunched with knees wobbling like a Jell-o mold. Doubled over like a soggy noodle, he panted and groaned, taking a minute to recompose himself.

“Whoo-wee! Now that was something else,” Simon yelped buoyantly, bouncing up and puffing his chest out, basking in the aftermath one-sided gratification. He extended his arms over his head and arched his back, stretching and swiveling side to side like he had just finished a rigorous workout or something. “Shoot, that wore me out.”

Rick and Negan watched, disgusted at the obnoxiousness on display. “Just give us the fucking food now,” Negan spat.

“Hold on, I gotta go back and get it first,” Simon said, sluggishly pulling up his pants in no hurry at all.

“You mean you didn’t bring any with you? You pathetic fuckstain lying piece of-”

“Hey-“ Simon interjected, “I’ll get you your food. I am a man of my word,” he claimed, straightening his belt and giving the buckle a cheery tap. “To be honest, I didn’t think you’d give in so soon.” He grinned derisively, loving the offended glares of indignation he got in return.

And with that, Simon undid Rick’s chain, separating the two and secured him back to his original place, not noticing anything amiss.

“I’ll be back later, boys,” Simon said on his way out, preening in bubbly self-contentment. “You know, I think this is all gonna work out just fine. Just fine,” he mused with a twinkle in his eye and an extra pep in his step as he took his sweet time moseying towards the exit. His arrogant departure ended with the door clanging shut behind him.

As soon as Rick and Negan heard the revving of Simon’s vehicle leaving the premises, they struggled furiously out of their bonds, frantically squeezing their hands free from the compromised restraints, nearly grating off some skin in the process. They succeeded, liberating themselves from the ropes in miraculous triumph, unfastening their dog collars and ripping them away.

“I’m going to fucking kill that bastard,” Negan snarled, climbing to his feet, surging with bloodlust.

“Let’s just get out of here,” Rick advised, not wanting to stay one nanosecond longer than necessary. He was going to puke if he didn’t get out of there right the fuck now.

They reached the front door but stopped short of opening it.

“We can both take him down, Rick,” Negan asserted, revenge foremost on his mind.

“You want to wait here until he comes back?” Rick questioned incredulously. “No, it’s too risky. He has a gun and we have nothing. We should leave now while we have the chance.”

“And let him get away with this shit? Fuck that noise. As soon as he comes through this door, I’ll grab him and you take his gun. He won’t be expecting it.”

“And what if he decides to come through that back door like he did earlier?” Rick argued. “A lot could go wrong. We need to have a _plan_ , Negan. I know you want Simon dead and so do I, but we need to get out of here, get weapons, figure out a strategy, and oh yeah, some clothes would be nice too.”

Negan didn’t argue with Rick’s logic, but he wasn’t pleased with the prospect of letting Simon stay alive, even for a little longer. That insufferable perv was gallivanting around happier than a pig in shit right now, lauding himself on a job well done for getting his dong shined with both their spit. Negan couldn’t stand the thought of it. “That fucker is laughing at us, thinking he got the better of us and we’re going to let him keep thinking that?”

“For now. But we _will_ get him,” Rick promised sternly, tone cutting with steel edges. “We’ll come back and get him. We will. _Trust_ _me_.” His blue eyes simmered with a dark, fiery conviction as he added, “And when we do, we’ll make him eat his dick.”

At this, Negan cracked a wry smile. “Damn, Rick. I didn’t know you had it in you.” The seriousness on Rick’s face was convincing enough to make Negan consider it. Freedom was on the other side of the door and it was admittedly tempting to just bolt out of there. As long as Simon eventually got what was coming to him, Negan supposed that his revenge could be dealt a minor delay. Plus, he was goddamned starving. “Fine, then. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

They busted out through the double doors into the blaring sunlight, gusty late autumn winds whipping through their scant clothing as they trotted over gravelly dirt in their stocking feet.

“Simon’s going to shit himself when he finds that we flew the coop,” Negan commented.

“Yeah and he’ll be hunting for us, so we need to get as far away from here as possible,” Rick replied.

After getting a good distance away, they stopped to assess their surroundings. They found themselves standing smack dab in no man’s land, some far-flung corner of the boonies, a daunting forested tundra that stretched for eons. Looking around and at each other, a realization crept in.

Where the fuck were they?

Neither had the slightest clue where the hell they were. They didn’t know how far Alexandria or the Sanctuary was, or in which direction they should be headed. They were stranded in a vast, howling wilderness without food, water, supplies, weapons, transportation or even sufficient attire. Heck, they were practically naked. They had absolutely nothing except their dicks swaying in the wind.

And now they were faced with the treacherous mission of survival and finding their way home.

This could be a little tougher than they thought.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

The great outdoors, Rick and Negan decided, was not so fucking great.

They had been trudging through the woods for miles, dead on their naked feet brimming with exhaustion from lack of nutrients and sleep deprivation. Drinking from flowing streams and picking crabapples from trees sustained them a little but it wasn’t nearly enough. They had their freedom from Simon, but that was it. Sure, they also had each other, but whether that worked in their favor or not remained to be seen.

Wielding long, pointy sticks they had fashioned out of tree branches, they were on the hunt, but not just for rabbits and squirrels.

“Over there. There’s four of them,” Rick whispered, motioning towards the small group of walkers staggering a short distance off.

Negan gave a nod, gripping the stick in his hands which felt woefully inadequate to the smooth, contoured handle of a certain baseball bat. Simon had better not lay his filthy cum-stained fingers on his Lucille, Negan thought, or he was really going to lose his shit on Simon when it came time to splatter-kill that degenerate son-of-a-bitch.

The dead, hobbling limp and slow, were easy pickings as Rick and Negan approached, doling out mass cranial damage with their makeshift spears as the walkers dropped like flies, deader than dead.

There was no time for a victory lap as they promptly descended on the corpses, divesting the cadavers of their clothing and dressing themselves in the soiled, tattered garments. Everything fit wrong and reeked literally of rotting, putrid death, but at least they now had shirts, pants and shoes to frolic around in until they could find better.

 

* * *

 

The end of the day brought them to a small cottage nestled deep in the woods. It was a dilapidated, dinky little hovel, already pillaged by previous scavengers – but it was a place to spend the night. After deeming it clear of walkers and barricading the entrance, they beelined to its sole bedroom.

The room was laughably tiny with its shoddy windows boarded shut and a consuming stench of mold. A single metal bedframe with a bare mattress was the only furniture. And something may or may not have died on it, judging by the mystery stains. But it mattered not. It was the fucking Ritz-Carlton as far as Rick and Negan were concerned.

Without uttering a word, they both collapsed onto the grungy, too-small bed, facing away from each other, immediately falling asleep as soon as their heads hit that splotchy mattress, however unsanitary it might be. They slept like the dead things they had killed earlier. Nothing could have woken them - not an earthquake, not a train crashing through the walls, not if they caught on fire, they were that tired.

When they finally came out of hibernation - well into the next day - they had to figure out their next course of action.

Their plan was simple. They would follow the main road which was bound to lead into a city. Once there, they would be able to pinpoint their exact location and it should be easier to find everything they needed to get home – a working vehicle, fuel, maps. They’d scavenge and forage along the way, however long that might take.

And that meant they’d have to put up with each other for the time being. Put aside their animosity and work together whether they liked it or not. It was a stone cold fact that no one lasted long on their own in this fucked up world, so for the sake of survival, Rick had to put aside the fact that Negan had theatrically murdered two of his personal friends, and Negan had to overlook the fact that Rick and his dunce brigade had massacred a shitload of his men.

If they had to cooperate for now, then they would grit their teeth and do it. But once all this was over, once they had retaken their communities and Simon was nothing more than a piss stain in their memories, the truce was off. Things would return to its regularly scheduled programming.

They just had to get through this shit first.

 

* * *

 

So they followed the road, the sun at their backs with their marching shadows stretching ever longer as the daylight receded. They kept to the woods, veiled within the thick foliage, just in case Simon was out there, driving around looking for them. _Fucking Simon_ \- he was probably shaking a box of doggy treats out the car window while whistling and calling their names, that goddamn freak.

Sometime during their trek that day, they came across a small campsite. Someone had left a bunch of camping equipment just out in the open – obviously belonging a solo traveler – a small tent, a single sleeping bag, one backpack. The charred, long extinguished remains of a campfire sat cold with no sign of the site’s occupant.

“Score,” Negan exclaimed. “Come on, let’s grab this shit.”

“Wait, what if someone comes back for this stuff?” Rick asked.

“Are you shitting me? Whoever this belonged to is among the living-impaired by now. No one would leave this stuff out for the taking if they hadn’t kicked the oxygen habit.”

Rick furrowed his brow but supposed Negan was right, and besides, they were in dire need of supplies. As Negan rifled through the backpack to check out their newly acquired loot, the crunching of dry leaves had them swiveling around in a fluid motion.

“Well, there you go, Rick,” Negan commented, nodding his head towards a lone walker staggering towards them, a younger male in the early stages of decay who couldn’t have been turned more than two days ago. “Guess our camper did come back for his stuff. He’s your size, too.”

Rick, now with no reservations, approached the recently deceased with his spear in hand and jammed the business end straight through its corroding face.

Negan showed off some of the goods found in the backpack – a medium-sized retractable knife, a lighter, a water bottle, and a couple of energy bars were among the haul.

After packing everything up, they split the scene with Rick sporting an upgraded jacket and hiking boots.

 

* * *

 

That night they found shelter in an old barn that had seen much better days. The doors were broken off its hinges, so they climbed the ladder up to the loft where they could avoid becoming some wandering walker’s midnight meal.

Settling in on the creaky wooden platform, aching and exhausted, they unpacked their only sleeping bag. And that raised an interesting question - how were they going to utilize just one sleeping bag? It was a single, and there was no way they could both cram themselves inside it, even if they wanted to, which they sure as hell didn’t.

Neither was willing to be the one left out in the cold while the other stayed warm and toasty. And with no coin to flip and being too tired to wrestle for it, they grudgingly decided on the most practical thing - unzip the whole bag open and use it as blanket for the both of them. Which meant sleeping in distressingly close proximity to each other, but if they both wanted to be warm, they had to just suck it up like a vacuum.

So laying on top on their jackets, fully clothed under the sleeping bag, they attempted to drift off to sleep, but Rick’s constant fidgeting wouldn’t allow it.

“Goddammit, Rick,” Negan breathed close by. _Way too close._ “What’s your problem?”

Rick stared straight up at the vaulted slant of the barn roof, the weathered beams that held the aging structure together. “This just feels...awkward, I guess,” he admitted.

“Awkward?” Negan repeated, “Fucking Christ, we sucked Simon’s cock together for fuck’s sake. It doesn’t get more awkward than that. You’d think after doing that shit, we wouldn’t be such shrinking violets around each other.”

Yeah, it was hard to argue with that.

Focusing instead on hoping the rickety old roof didn’t collapse on them, Rick managed to fall asleep.

 

* * *

 

In the following days, they journeyed onwards, from sunrise ‘til sunset, foraging food and water, looting dead walkers for better clothes. They took turns carrying the backpack, washed off in rivers, killed snakes and frogs, scavenged from road-side gas station convenience stores and truck stops.

They took refuge at night in barns and abandoned houses, even broken down cars or vans, anything that could provide a roof over their heads. And when no shelter could be found, they camped in the woods, building a small campfire for warmth. Being exposed in the open, they had to take shifts staying awake and keeping watch while the other slept.

And through it all, submerged up to their eyeballs with each other, they managed to hold it together, tolerate the other’s constant, round-the-clock presence. They could actually sit in a sandbox together without kicking shit in each other’s faces.

For the most part, that is. Other times it felt like their alliance was teetering on a razor’s edge - an ailing, fragile thing held together with nothing but spit and wishful thinking.

It was about a week into their pilgrimage, plugging along down an endless road, feeling like they were spinning their wheels not getting anywhere. By now, they didn’t worry about Simon tracking them down anymore, as there was no way Simon would be spending the enormous amounts of time, effort and fuel it would take to search for them all by himself. Yet, Negan sorta wished Simon would catch up to them, to have the final face-off against that backstabbing, ratshit bastard. A rage roiled his insides every time Negan thought of his former right-hand, made him inconsolably bitter and cranky.

“We should’ve just waited for Simon back at that shitty warehouse,” Negan remarked coarsely, “killed him and then at least we would have his car and gun. But nooo….” It was a back-handed comment levied straight at Rick’s decision-making skills or lack thereof.

Rick bristled and stopped in his tracks. “And then what?” he snapped back. “Even if we had managed to beat Simon, we’d still have no idea where we were. We’d still be lost. We’d eventually run out of gas and bullets and be exactly in the same spot we are right now.”

“Well, it would have given us a head start,” Negan seethed, “We could’ve been better off.”

“That’s no guarantee. We couldn’t risk it,” Rick argued. “What’s important is that we got out of there alive.”

“ _I_ would’ve risked it. I would’ve taken the chance,” Negan said. “Maybe I should’ve stayed there and taken on Simon myself while you ran off like a pussy. In fact, I wish I had. I could’ve driven myself back to the Sanctuary by now, instead of having to hoof it on this damn road for only God knows how long with you.”

Rick fought the urge to face palm himself. ”Like the last time you tried to fight Simon yourself without a weapon? How’d that turn out again? You know what, fine,” Rick waved dismissively, “You want to go our separate ways? Then go,” he said, pointing in the direction they came from. “I can’t stop you. So if you want to leave, then leave if you think you can survive on your own.”

They stared hard and unmoving at each other, long and tense, Rick daring Negan to make his call.

Negan was a lot of things - rude, petulant and stubborn among a list five miles long - but stupid wasn’t one of them, as far as Rick could tell. Negan was only talking shit, of course. But when Negan looked down the road behind them, wistful and contemplative, for a second it seemed like he was actually going to turn and walk away.

But he didn’t.

“Oh, I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Negan spouted. “Well, I’m not going away just ‘cause you tell me to.”

Rick nodded with a knowing smirk at the backpedaling. “Thought so.”

“Hey, don’t think I wouldn’t ditch your lame ass out here,” Negan scoffed, voice dropping to an icy growl. “You and me - this here’s just a temporary deal. When I get sick of your shit, Rick, I’ll just leave and you won’t even know it.”

With Negan getting in the last word, they continued on their way, Rick rolling his eyes and shaking his head a few steps behind Negan’s back. Rick very much doubted that Negan would be reckless enough to go off on his own, but then again, this was Negan. Still, it would be a stupendously stupid move. The world was one big death trap. Frayed nerves and clashing personalities or not, they needed each other right now to survive.

 

* * *

 

Battling walkers was an unavoidable daily event with increased numbers of them springing up every day, seemingly multiplying like undead rabbits. It was a full time occupation, looking out for these mortuary rejects that seemed to bleed out from behind every tree and shrub. Squabbling less and focusing more on maintaining a pulse was the inevitable outcome the longer Rick and Negan treaded the wilderness. By now, nearly two weeks in, they were adapting to fighting walkers collaboratively, a natural, synergetic conforming of skills, improving with the adrenaline bloodrush of each kill grislier than the last.

Turned out they weren’t a bad killing team.

But walkers weren’t the only threat.

On one brisk, late morning, they stopped for a break, resting on the bright layers of fallen autumn leaves, sharing swigs from their sole water bottle to drown away their thirst. The air was eerily silent in this neck of the woods, no flapping of birds or the buzzing of insects as everything fell still. After a while, they stood to get moving again, Rick brushing the flakes of dried leaves off his pants as Negan hefted the backpack onto his shoulders.

Rick detected a faint sound in the distance, his ears perking up in a Pavlovian response. More walkers of course, he thought in annoyance as he turned towards the direction of the noise.

It wasn’t walkers.

“N-Negan?” Rick barely moved his lips, mumbling as he froze in place. “It’s a – there’s um – there’s…“

Negan turned around. “Jesus, just spit it out,” he said, looking past the back of Rick’s messy, curl-covered head to see what had gotten the man’s tongue in a twist. And then he saw it.

A bear.

A motherfucking _bear_.

Not some cuddly, overstuffed carnival booth prize, but a living, fully grown, hairy as balls, ginormous fucking brown bear, staring them down from about two hundred feet away. It raised its snout as it sniffed the air with questionable intent, and Rick and Negan could only gaze back at it in stupefied astonishment.

“We gotta get out of here,” Negan whispered to Rick. “It looks hungry.” What the fuck was a bear doing here? There were no bears living in this area, he was pretty sure. But then he remembered the news reports of animals escaping zoos when everything was going down, when shit was hitting the fan. Of course, why the fuck not? If that doofus Ezekiel could have a tiger, then why couldn’t a bear be shitting around in these very woods?

“No, don’t move. If we run, it will chase,” Rick replied, not taking his eyes off the beast.

“Let’s just back away, nice and easy,” Negan suggested. They started to take a step back, one foot lifting off the ground in slow motion, creeping like molasses, their guts balling into tight, nervous bundles of knots.

The bear stepped forward, giant paws slapping the ground shooting tremors up Rick’s spine. Then it took a second step.

“It’s coming towards us,” Rick breathed in stomach-flipping panic. “What if it charges?”

Faced with a very possible bear attack, for the life of them, they couldn’t remember what the right protocol was. Were they supposed to raise their arms and make a bunch of noise? Play dead? Stop, drop and roll? Run the fuck away?

Neither had time to pontificate the appropriate action because as if right on cue, the bear charged, breaking into a lumbering gallop towards them with brick-shitting speed.

“ _Shit!”_ Negan yelped and then bolted, feet pounding the earth with Rick running right behind him. There was no chance in hell they could outrun a bear, Negan knew, zeroing in on a tree dead ahead. Dropping the weighty backpack to the ground, he scrambled up the tree, furiously grabbing limbs and tearing at bark in a heart-exploding hustle to safety.

Rick was right at his heels, racing up the tree, but the bear had caught up to them to the base of the trunk, standing on its hind legs as it stretched its furry body vertical. The men scurried higher up, and though the tree wasn’t particularly tall, Negan climbed as far as he could go - any higher and the thinning branches wouldn’t hold their weight.

But Rick was having some trouble, struggling to reach the next branch. When Negan looked down he was met with the image of Rick grasping the trunk, sweat-drenched and teeth gritted as the roaring maw of the bear gaped slobbery and hungry, un-teddybear-like claws swiping at Rick’s flailing feet in an attempt to score itself a hot southern meal.

“Rick!” Negan shouted, shuffling down on the branch, one arm holding tight around the trunk as he dove down, outstretching his other arm to Rick. “Rick, grab my hand!” he yelled, straining to extend his reach as far as humanly possible.

Rick could feel the puffing of the bear’s breath up his pant leg as it snorted and grunted. In paralyzing terror, he imagined himself being shredded alive as he kicked feebly against those fatally burly paws swatting at his boots. Over the deafening pounding of his own heart, he heard Negan urgently yelling his name and Rick looked up, spotting the extended hand. The snapping of the bear’s jaws was more than enough incentive for Rick to reach up, desperately lunging upwards to catch the lifeline.

Negan caught Rick’s hand, grappling tightly in a back-breaking, adrenalized grip as he struggled to haul Rick up without falling out of the tree himself, until Rick had made it onto the sturdy branch. They gazed down at the danger they barely escaped, their lungs about to pop like overfilled balloons. The bear groaned and scratched at the trunk in apparent frustration, sending up vibrations that Rick and Negan felt with each heavy thud of the paw.

“Fuck, that was close,” Negan panted, watching the bear make circles around the base. “What the shit do we do now?”

Rick stared transfixed at the burly creature, rattled and face drained of all blood, fists in a white-knuckle death grip around anything he could reach, including the material of Negan’s jacket sleeve. “We wait until it goes away,” Rick lamented in trembly breaths.

They watched helplessly as the bear sniffed and pawed at the backpack that lay stranded on the ground, managing to pry open the top flap to poke at its contents. Soon, all their gear lay strewn about as the bear dug out the morsels of food contained within, rudely devouring it with no apologies.

The men hoped the beast would leave now that it had its midday snack, but the bear had other plans, plonking its big, hairy butt on the ground right under the tree. It laid down, stretching lazily, settling in all comfy and cozy.

The fucking thing wasn’t going anywhere.

“Well, this sucks ass,” Negan groaned.

Hours upon excruciating hours passed as the bear laid in wait, Rick and Negan perched within the branches, trapped with no recourse.

Only when the sun set, disappearing behind distant snow-capped mountains, did the bear finally stand, shaking the leaves off its thick coat and lumbered away, heading back to its cave or wherever the fuck it came from.

When the bear was out of sight, the men quietly climbed down from their confinement, gathered their gear and fled away into the dusk.

 

* * *

 

The weather was becoming shit these days.

What started as light drizzles turned into steady showers, ushering in grim dark clouds that roiled above, weeping their grievances over a world gone wrong. At first, the rain was a welcome change for the thirsty travelers who could drink up the leaking sky. But then the torrents came in biblical-type proportions, a falling wall of ocean, causing all forms of life – and unlife – to take cover.

When caught in a downpour with no refuge for miles, Rick and Negan would be hunkered under a fir tree, soaked to the bones, waiting hours for the rain to abate, a couple of stray wet dogs pining for a warm, snuggly home. Or when they did run inside a barn or house to escape the storm, they’d find themselves scrapping for their lives against a mob of walkers for a bit of dry shelter space.

For days, it was the dreariest and bleakest period they’ve had to endure so far in their travels. One could almost hear sad violin music playing over the clattering commotion of rainfall.

And then, as if the heavens wasn’t done with its barrage of fuck-you’s, it started to snow.

They had to step up their scavenging game. As the temperatures turned frigid, fruit and plantlife were getting scarce and they still didn’t have the necessary tools for hunting. They needed food, and fast.

They came across one of the quaint little farm towns that dotted the countryside, intent on shaking it down for all it was worth. But it was quite slim pickings as barren shelves of grocery and drug stores stared them cold in the face, only managing to scrounge up packets of ketchup and mustard from a burger joint, sugar and mini creamer cups from a coffee shop.

Bouncing from store to store, Rick followed Negan into another former business establishment.

“What are we doing here? This is a barber shop,” Rick rumbled, watching as Negan ransacked the place, plying open drawers and cabinets, raiding the backroom.

“You’d be surprised at what you can find in places like this,” Negan replied, brandishing a straight razor before pocketing it.

They hit several other locations – a nail salon, a bookstore, a watch repair shop. “Everyone goes for the obvious places to find food,” Negan explained, rummaging behind the counter of an antique store, “but they never think to look for grub here.”

“That’s because there isn’t any?” Rick pointed out, following Negan out the door.

They entered an office space - a cheerless, dusty room that might have been a travel agency back in its heyday. Negan continued his hunt, opening every drawer of every desk. “The people who used to work here,” Negan relayed, “sometimes kept a stash hidden.” Pulling open a large bottom drawer, he looked up at Rick and flashed a smile. “Bingo.”

The drawer with filled with snacks and prepackaged food – cookies, chips and candy bars galore. There was also cereal bars, beef jerky and trail mix. “There’s always that one fatty in the office that snacks all day,” Negan commented while shoving it all into their backpack.

Rick was sold, and confoundedly, quietly impressed with Negan’s scavenging skills. They tore apart the rest of the town, digging like rabid honey badgers in the unlikeliest of places, scoring a pretty decent payload by the end.

 

* * *

 

New snowfall had just started again, packing the landscape in white powder faster than a coke smuggler’s suitcase. They had been hiking all day, looking for the next place to spend the night.

Trekking off the main road, they came to a lake, pristine and still, snowflakes disappearing as they touched the mirrored surface. A small, unassuming log cabin resided by the water’s edge, no doubt someone’s long deserted vacation home.

A quick sweep of the cabin revealed an F2 category tornado had visited there. The place was thoroughly thrashed. Heaping piles of random broken objects and debris lay strewn throughout and there was no furniture to speak of – no bed or couch, no tables or chairs that weren’t smashed to bits – just mounds of garbage.

“Look at all this shit. It’s like a landfill in here,” Negan stated.

“But this will do for the night,” Rick responded, glancing out the window at the escalating flurries, “and there’s a fireplace too.”

They went to work, collecting enough wood to build Noah’s Ark, lighting a warming blaze and clearing out a small space in front of the fireplace for a sleeping area.

They hit the hay early that night so they could get moving at the whipcrack of dawn. Blanketed by their sleeping bag near the fire, it was the warmest they’d been in a long time. Sleep came easy that night amidst the ambient sound of crackling embers and whistling winds.

 

* * *

 

When Rick opened his eyes, it was cold again with the sunlight blaring bright white through the ice-frosted window. The fire had burned out long ago and now the room was so frigid he could see the wisps of his own breath emitting from beneath the cover.

And Negan, still soundly asleep, was pressed up against Rick’s back, pretty much spooning him.

This was nothing new. As the nights grew colder, they would sometimes wake up to find themselves huddled close together, in what Rick figured was an involuntary, natural response to the cold. It wasn’t intentional, of course. Normally, Rick would simply move away. But right now, still mired in the lazy, hazy fog of sleep, he didn’t move away. It was _warm_ and it was sorta nice just lying there _._ Just for a few more minutes, before they had to get up.

But then Negan jostled behind him, awakening and then sat up to exclaim, “Goddamn, it’s colder than a penguin’s beanbag in here.” At the sudden loss of contact, Rick felt a slight tinge of annoyance but hastily brushed it off.

They should be getting up anyway, so they climbed to their feet, preparing to take on the new day. Packing up, they readied to head out to leave this junk heap of a cabin behind them forever.

But life was funny. Hilarious, even.

When the door wouldn’t budge more than three inches because it was blocked by nearly four feet of snow, they looked at each other and almost laughed.

Fuck. Okay, maybe it wasn’t so funny.

“Big guy upstairs took a big, white shit on us,” Negan scoffed, “We’re trapped.”

They gawked dumbstruck at the blockade of snow, wondering what kind of sick cosmic joke had once again befallen them. Rick scrubbed his hand through his ragged beard, the grave reality of the situation sinking in fast and heavy. “How much food do we have left?”

“Not that much,” Negan sighed, “maybe last a week if we tighten our belts.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Rick said grimly, “We have to stay here.”

Even if they could get outside, there would be no traveling in waist-deep levels of snow. It would be days until the snow melted enough to even open the door, that is, if the sky didn’t dump even more snow on top.

“Well yeah, Captain Obvious,” said Negan in a tone too weary to be taunting.

 

* * *

 

At least they still had plenty of firewood.

If they were forced to stay holed up in this wooden ice box, they had to clear out the junk. They spent the day moving all the crap to the bedroom, leaving the rest of the cabin free and clear. Among the debris they were able to scrounge up a few potentially useful items – a mangled fishing pole with its line in a giant tangled mess, a couple of pots and pans, pieces of rope.

But once everything was cleared out, they were now just…stuck there, with not much to do within their confinement for the next several days.

They’d boil snow for drinking, work on untangling the fishing lines, and sit around twiddling their thumbs the rest of the time. No books. No board games. No radio. No forms of entertainment to distract them from the affliction of stark raving boredom.

Cabin fucking fever was very real.

So with nothing but the other’s company, they did what any two attractive, able-bodied adults would do in a situation such as this.

They talked.

After dipping their toes in the obligatory questions about where they were from and what they did for a living, the floodgates opened and their life stories came pouring out, filling the void with hours of just shooting the shit in front of the fire, trading anecdotes about everything from childhood antics to disastrous first dates to what kind of dental work they had done. All the particulars came forth - their preferred brand of aftershave, if they liked karaoke, their best bowling scores, whether they squeezed the toothpaste from the middle or the bottom.

Soon, Rick knew all about Negan’s beer bottle collection, the make and model of his first shitty car, winning second place in the county chili cook off contest, the story behind each of his tattoos, how he could talk his way out of a speeding ticket - every, single, time.

And Negan heard about Rick’s first job at an ice cream parlor, paper hat and all, his time in the academy, getting violently puked on while arresting Georgia’s most prolific drunks, burning pork chops in the oven so bad that the fire department showed up.

They could now name the other’s zodiac sign, how the other liked his steak cooked, favorite Zeppelin songs, and other frivolous details they never cared or wanted to know about – until now.

It felt odd yet cathartic, talking about things from before the world got screwed upside down and sideways. Exhuming memories of their buried pasts, it felt like talking about extinct variants of themselves that had vanished into the ether. So much had happened since then, so much death and mayhem, hardening of character and acts of questionable morality that it seemed strange that the men they were describing and hearing about – regular couple of guys – were in fact the same men sitting beside the other.

But it wasn’t so long ago that those two regular guys existed. A mere two years ago, Rick was wrangling unruly Mylar balloons into his car for his son’s birthday party. Also two years ago, Negan was calling for dinner reservations at his wife’s favorite restaurant for a surprise night out after her latest radiation treatment.

It was easy to forget such things, that other people led nondescript lives before, that there was a fully ordinary person beneath the murky waters of their current manifestation. They sometimes forget it about themselves too.

Maybe Rick wasn’t always a giant-stick-up-the-ass, better-than-thou douche bucket.

And maybe Negan wasn’t always a crueler-than-Satan, bloodlusty Assholesaurus-Rex.

Just. Maybe.

 

* * *

 

After some days they were able plow the door open into a dreaded arctic tundra. There was still far too much snow on the ground to travel and they wouldn’t be able to find the main road anyway. But they were running low on food.

“We should try fishing that lake,” Rick suggested, looking at the giant skating rink that had a lake buried somewhere inside it. They had repaired the fishing equipment, cleaned up the crusty hooks and lures, untangled the lines until they were in adequate working condition.

“You ever been ice fishing?” Negan asked.

“No. You?”

“Hell no.”

Five hours later they were still out on the frozen lake, standing over a poorly dug hole in the ice that took them an hour of chipping away with rusty metal rods, wearing every layer of clothing they had but still freezing their asses off. And with nothing to show for it.

“Jesus, we’re never gonna catch anything,” Negan gritted in frustration, rubbing off the tiny icicles forming on his beard, an action he had to repeat about every fifteen minutes.

Rick breathed out, a large cloud of vapor escaping from his chapped lips, his bare hands numb and frozen stiff around the fishing rod. He was feeling discouraged as well, but they couldn’t give up yet.

Another hour passed as they stood by, cowering in the cold, just waiting for something to happen. They had spent almost the entire day on this fruitless exercise, and they were about ready to hang it all up when –

“Hey, I got something!” Rick blurted, the line suddenly going taunt with tension.

“Well shit, start reeling that sonovabitch,” Negan advised none too lightly, watching as Rick hurriedly cranked the reel, on pins and needles hoping that the fish didn’t get away, or that it wasn’t some godforsaken boot at the end of the hook.

Whatever it was, it was putting up quite a fight, with the rod bending sharply and the reel making high-pitched zippy sounds as it spooled in the line. Finally, a head appeared out of the water and Rick jerked the pole up, heaving a stout, silvery-grey fish onto the frozen surface. Holy smokes, it was a _big_ motherfucker. It slid a few feet across the ice, flapping wildly, irate as all hell, the hook ripping loose from its wide, gulping mouth.

“Get it, _get it!_ ” Rick yelled as their flailing catch was valiantly trying to flop its way back towards the hole to disappear forever into the dark, icy abyss.

Negan scrambled after it, trying not to fall flat on his ass as he grabbed the sucker, only to have it slip out of his hands, the slimy weasel that it was. _“Fuck!”_ he cursed, yanking off the outermost jacket he was wearing and threw it over the feisty critter just as it was about to plunge back into the water, swiftly bagging it up inside the fleecy lining.

“ _YEAH!”_ they both shouted in unison, that one rowdy syllable echoing far into the wild yonder. Negan hoisted up the fishy bundle of joy in his arms. They were ecstatic, beaming and whooping it up, momentarily forgetting how cold it was. Finally, for the first time since finding the cabin, something _good_ happened. They even almost high-fived each other, but held back when they thought better of it. It’d be silly for two grown ass men to be slapping a cheesy high-five over a goddamned fish. What were they, ten?

After the excitement wore down, they headed back inside the cabin with their hard-won prize, a warmness tingeing their cheeks despite the sub-freezing temperature.

 

* * *

 

They did better the next day, and the day after that, catching four more fish, hoping to stock up on food before taking their leave. Soon, a week had passed, and they were about ready to head out, only…

It snowed again.

New inches of fresh powdery fluffiness piled on top of condensed, icy slush, with no signs of letting up. Mother Nature was an especially cruel bitch.

“What do you think about,” Rick started to ask, peering out the hazy, frost-covered windows, “staying here, until it stops snowing for good?”

Negan paced the floor like a caged animal, already feeling antsy over the thought of being cooped up there for even longer. “So you want to play house the whole winter?”

“We don’t want to be caught out there in a snowstorm with no shelter. It’ll be just until the worst of winter is over,” Rick replied, sounding no more enthused than Negan did.

This was going to set them back for an additional, indeterminate amount of time. As demoralizing as that thought seemed, there weren’t any other good options. They were woefully ill-equipped to handle the weather as it was. Toss a blizzard or two their way and they’ll be a couple of frozen popsicles for the walkers to nosh on.

So they stayed.

And if they were going to stay, they might as well try to make the place a little more livable, a bit cozier, or as cozy as a garbage dump could be. Digging into the ceiling-high mountain of junk they had tossed in the bedroom, they were able to “refurbish” a few pieces of furniture. Taking a coffee table with missing legs, they slapped on some PVC piping with a roll of duct tape, and it was practically brand spanking new. Some things required finagling square pegs into round holes, but finagle them they did.

Soon, they had a place to hang their hats. Who knew a ratty bath rug made a great window shade? Or a closet door placed on top of a busted refrigerator laying on its side was a perfectly good dining table? It didn’t always look pretty, but who gave a crap? It’s not like they were hosting a photoshoot for Good Housekeeping anytime soon.

Then, getting tired of dining exclusively on fish, they decided to take on a little hunting too, perhaps snag themselves a rabbit or other small, woodland critter. This proved to be much harder, however, as neither of them were hunters or trappers.

Finding little animal tracks in the snow, they placed rope snares along the pathway and hoped for the best. But for days, the traps sat sad and empty, just like their ambitions for rodent stew. So they tried different locations, different methods involving sticks and stones, rope and wire, in wonky, amateur mechanisms of pure trial and error. Mostly error.

And then one morning, there was an actual rabbit entangled in one of the snares. It was so unexpected, so astonishing, they couldn’t believe it. They didn’t know a bunny’s ass from a hole in the ground, yet they had managed to catch one. It was like striking gold in a raw sewage tank, blindfolded. And this time, they did high-five each other. Fuck it.

They were finally starting to get a hang of this Daniel Boone shit.

 

* * *

 

They didn’t count the days. The moon and sun rose and fell in an infinite loop, the weather cycling between harsh and calm. Without notice, weeks had spanned into months, time rolling onward even as the landscape remained bound frozen under a wintry spell.

During it all, they pushed through, acclimating to the conditions they were powerless to change, overcoming the odds with only their combined wits and grit, and perhaps a bit of luck. At times it felt as though they had been living there forever, the two of them toughing it out, embattled by the elements in isolation from a world that thought them dead. But by the same token, it was a simple, pure existence, uncomplicated by the former demands of the masses, beholden to no one but themselves.

Eventually, the day came when the snow melted enough that patches of the ground could be seen. And then only small lumps of snow remained as the grass greened and the lake once again rippled with liquid waves over its sun-warmed surface.

It was time to leave their little nest and fly away.

The morning they left, dressed and packed up with extra rations and supplies, it seemed rather bittersweet. They had been waiting for this day since the time they got there, but they had gotten to know this rugged house of logs and its surroundings, had endured its many charms and quirks, had made this space their own. It was the site of their successes and failures. And it had kept them safe and alive.

As they walked off into the forest, they couldn’t help but throw one last glance at the shabby little cabin, deserted once again, standing faithfully by the glistening water.

It may have been a shithole, but it was _their_ shithole.

 


	9. Chapter 9

Negan’s vision was bleary as he peered out from under the cover after a night of sleep, memory lapsing as he took in the unfamiliar setting around him. Where the hell was he again? The soft light of daybreak leaked through a window somewhere, illuminating wooden walls and beams in dull, grey shadows. The scent of hay and long gone farm animals lingered in midair, infused forever within this dank, hollow space.

Oh yeah. Another friggin’ barn.

They were on the road again, back to the nitty gritty of the open wilderness, of grinding out the miles, and of waking up in a new location every morning.

Different day, different place. The only thing that stayed the same was the guy snoozing next to him – Rick, who was currently curled up against Negan’s side like a lazy house cat that sleeps twenty hours a day. Again. They always seemed to end up in some kind of closer-than-intended configuration, but Negan didn’t mind it anymore, he had gotten used to it. Somewhere along the way, they’d gotten tired of clashing over personal space. It was easier this way, much better than the sleepless nights of fighting over the cover, yanking the sleeping bag back and forth like they did so frequently in the beginning.

“Hey, time to get up,” Negan slurred, slow and drowsy, nudging Rick with his arm. But Rick only made some kind of reluctant groaning noise, remaining firmly motionless. Maybe sleepyhead had the right idea, Negan mused as he slid his eyes shut again. If Rick wasn’t in any hurry to wake up, then why should he be?

 

Hours later, Rick jarred awake, poking his head up, squinting at the light streaming in as the sun blazed high in the sky. _Shit_. They overslept again, didn’t they? Wasted nearly half the day being completely unproductive.

It was hard to get back into the swing of things after leaving that winter cabin. They were getting too comfortable in that little hideaway, sleeping in everyday with nothing to do, no work, no place to go, no walkers to kill. Rick worried that it made them lazy and soft, too accustomed to being sheltered. They needed to get their hard edge, their razor sharp killing instincts back if they were to survive the rest of this journey.

He pawed Negan lightly on the chest. “Negan, we gotta get up.”

“Oh, so you’re awake now,” Negan mumbled, eyes barely cracking open. “You weren’t much interested in waking up earlier.”

“Yeah, I know, I know,” Rick replied regretfully, pushing up off the floor, “but we gotta go now. We got a long way ahead of us.”

 

* * *

 

These days they were more optimistic than ever about their chances of finding what they were searching for. Yes, any day now they were going to find that shining city on the hill. These past months they’d been slogging by, the knocks and setbacks they endured, it was all culminating to this particular goal. After all the shit they’d been through, they just had to be getting close.          

They daydreamed of going home, yearning for the things they’d been sorely missing. Semi-civilization, familiar faces, the little things often taken for granted. A hot cup of joe. A full stomach. Sleeping in an actual bed every night. And God yes, a fucking shower.

And then four days later, hiking to the edge of the woods, they saw it.

Off in the far, hazy distance - a city. A real metropolis, a synthetic forest of brick and mortar with the tops of the tallest buildings grazing low-hanging clouds. A concrete jungle of infinite possibilities.

This was it. This was their ticket home. It wasn’t a very large city by the looks of it, but it would have everything they needed. There would be plenty of vehicles on the streets ripe for the picking and other cars to siphon enough fuel from. Department stores full of supplies and fresh clothing. They should be able to find decent weapons, maps, food and whatever else they could want. It was a scavenger’s paradise.

The only obstacle was, of course, the city would be swarming with walkers - crawling out of dumpsters and lurking under every orange traffic cone. Rick remembered Atlanta all too well and if this city anything like that then they could be dead as soon as they stuck a toe in there. They would need to tread with extreme caution.

 

* * *

 

It was still a day’s hike to the city, so they retired early that evening, camping under the stars to rest up for the next morning. They sat next to each other by a smoky, toasty campfire, the reality of finally getting to go home feeling so close they could taste it.

Rick couldn’t wait to see his kids again, to embrace them, see their smiling faces and hear their voices, to know that they were okay. He looked forward to seeing his friends, the people he cared for and who cared for him back. Even the thought of getting back to work was exciting, digging his hands in the moist, rich soil of his garden, laboring with renovation projects, the things that brought him pride and joy. Such nice, warm, fuzzy thoughts.

For Negan, there was only one thing he was most anticipating.

Payback.

There was a certain traitor that needed to have his cranium caved in, someone whose name rhymed with hymen. That day was near and every murdery thought flooded Negan’s head, visions of a very bloody and obliterated Simon shuttering through his mind like a gruesome flipbook.

Once he was back at the Sanctuary, he’d have to burn his bed, frame and all. Who knew what kind of sick, gross shit Simon was doing in it? Probably have to burn everything in that bedroom, for that matter. Hell, he’d need to get rid of his leather jacket too and he fucking _loved_ that jacket, goddammit. But Jesus fucking shit, what about Lucille? The thought was enough to make him nauseous. He would never get rid of Lucille _, absolutely never_ \- no matter how badly she’d been defiled.

Negan couldn’t believe he had promoted that filthy, ratfink scum to second in command. He used to sing Simon’s praises to everyone, even to Rick. Simon had always seemed so loyal and sincere, so quick to voice support for every one of Negan’s ideas, unfailingly dependable and devoted. If Negan ever thought he had a friend in this world, it was Simon. But it was all a big, dirty con.

Fuck, thinking of Simon always made him feel so shitty.

 

Rick glanced over to the man beside him, a man who didn’t look like he was thinking about cuddly puppies and kitties. He noticed that Negan would sometimes have a broody, sunken look on his face, brows furrowed and jaw tight. Rick would usually play it safe by not asking about it, to just let Negan work out whatever inner turmoil he was dealing with on his own. It was better that way, but lately, Rick found he didn’t like that look on Negan.

“What’s the matter?”

Negan’s eyes flicked up at the sound of Rick’s voice, breaking him out of his sulk-fest. “Nothing, I’m just....figuring out how to kill Simon once I get my hands on that shitwad.”

Simon was a sore subject, Rick knew, and they never really talked about it, preferring to put that whole dirty escapade behind them - stuff it in a box, encase it with cement, sink it to the bottom of the ocean and pretend it never happened.

“You’ll get your chance,” Rick assured, but he had a feeling there was more to it than that. “Is there anything else?”

Negan looked rather pouty as he shifted his attention back to the flickering fire. “No...”

There was a withering pause of silence as the embers crackled. “My friend betrayed me too,” Rick stated out of the blue, quite matter-of-factly. “My best friend since grade school. We grew up together, did everything together, we were partners on the force. But when the world changed, so did he. He became jealous of me. He wanted everything I had for himself – my family, my position in our group. He wanted to replace me. I wanted to believe we could work things out, that he would always be on my side. Then one night he tried to kill me, so I had to kill him. I stabbed him to death. My best friend.”

Rick heaved a sigh, the weight of buried memories rising to the surface as he continued. “Out of all the people in the world, I trusted him the most. I never could’ve imagined he would do that to me. But he did, and it hurt like hell.” Negan was looking at him, listening intently with curious intrigue. Their eyes met, holding the gaze. “I never talked to anyone else about it,” Rick added, “but I thought you might relate.”

Negan seemed somewhat at a loss for words. “Goddamn, Rick, that’s rough,” he finally said. “So did you ever get over that shit?”

Rick shifted where he sat, mulling it over. “Well, afterwards I kept questioning myself, my ability to judge people. I couldn’t trust anyone. How could I? But it gets better with time. It does. You meet new people, or spend time with those you know, and you eventually learn to trust again.” Rick offered a small, reassuring smile. “But yeah, it was rough for a long time. He really did a number on me.”

They looked to each other, soft, quiet and understanding, a glimmer of camaraderie passing between them. Neither had shared anything so personal before this. It cast a revealing light and yet blurred the hard wedge that had always separated them. The chasm of their differences didn’t seem so wide now.

And then Rick blurted, “But at least he didn’t kidnap me and make me suck his dick for food, so you still win for worst betrayal.” He snorted, inappropriate laughter bubbling up his throat as he tried desperately to stifle it, failing miserably and ruining the moment. Dang.

“Oh, fuck you, Rick,” Negan scoffed, more stunned than anything else, swatting a snickering Rick in the arm. “That shit’s not funny,” he protested, yet cracking a smile despite his words.

Rick’s shoulders shook in terrible giggles as he fought to compose himself. “S-s-sorry.”

“You bet your sorry ass you are. Now get the fuck to sleep. If some dead fucker shows up tonight, you’ll be lucky if I don’t let it have at you. Prick.”

Without argument, Rick went and crawled into the sleeping bag, laying on his side, smothering the smirk still stuck on his face. “Good night, Negan.”

Scooting closer to the fire, Negan settled in for the next several hours while he took first watch. He shot a cutting glare at the back of Rick’s head, melting into a wry grin. Rick fucking Grimes cracked an obscene joke. Well, now he’s heard everything.

Maybe he was rubbing off on Rick.

 

* * *

 

They stopped at the outer periphery, facing a colossal ghost town, a dead city with its glass and steel edifices standing silent and empty. Absent were the sounds of urbanity, wailing sirens and honking horns, the hustle and bustle of busy pedestrians that once roamed the paved terrain. They may have missed rush hour traffic, but there was a different hazard awaiting them.

The city was surrounded by a river with a few bridges granting access. Having limited exits also upped the danger factor in case they were overrun and needed to make a quick escape.

As they walked over the steel cable bridge, apprehension and nerves were running high. At any moment the reanimated denizens of the city could be pouring out to greet them. But so far, so good as they crossed over, passing by the ‘Now Entering’ sign designating the name of the city. But strangely, someone had spray painted the sign in black, blocking out the city’s name, replaced with the word _“Maddox”_ scrawled over it in white paint.

Upon entering, it looked exactly what a post-apocalyptic city would look like. Overturned trash cans, garbage strewn all over, weeds growing through cracks in the sidewalk. Buildings in disrepair towered abandoned and lifeless like ancient ruins of an extinct civilization.

It was quiet, very quiet as they traversed the streets, senses honed and sharp as they listened intently for the familiar hisses and growls.

Surprisingly, there weren’t many cars parked along the streets like they had expected. The vehicles that remained were in shit condition with smashed windshields and flat tires, or they were gutted wreckages, empty husks of rusty metal with their vital parts harvested.

The storefronts were vandalized, their name signs damaged or painted over. Even more odd, much like the city entrance sign, the street signs were also spray painted black and written over in white paint in sloppy lettering, renaming the streets with peculiar titles like “Dead Street” and “Blood Blvd.”

This place was definitely giving off some weird ass vibes. Something was off about this city, it was too silent. Where were the walkers? There should have been walkers all over them like a bad suit by now, but there was not a solitary peep.

“Something's up ahead,” Negan said as they ventured further towards the city's center, an upscale district with its wide, six-lane streets. Slowly, they approached an intersection, and what looked like a barricade comprised of a shit ton of vehicles packed tightly together blocking off the entire street – everything from cars, vans, buses, bulldozers, ice cream trucks – probably five to six vehicles deep.

And on the other side of the barricade, were the walkers. An unfathomable ocean of the dead, tens of thousands of them, crammed in like canned sardines in the center of the city. Former businessmen and women in their suits and dresses, uniformed officers and construction workers still in their hardhats, school kids, the homeless - all squeezed in there within a few city blocks.

“This must be where all the cars are,” Rick stated, “every street leading here is probably blocked off like this, to keep the walkers in.”

The walkers were in a catatonic state, standing idle and silent, completely zoned out with their rotted eyeballs lolling around in their sockets. That is, until one of them got a whiff of fresh, warm humans in the vicinity, and started hissing and making a ruckus. It set off a chain reaction, alerting adjacent walkers and throwing them all into a violent tizzy. Pretty soon, thousands became crazed with aggression, screeching in hunger, shoving against the cars trying to break out.

It was a shit storm of epic magnitude as Rick and Negan watched the frenzied masses rage on, skeletal arms outstretched and clawing anything in reach. The only thing preventing the living from being engulfed by a tsunami of the dead was the blockade of vehicles. The squealing crush of metal was piercing as the walkers pushed their combined force against the innermost row of cars.

But the barricade seemed to be holding firm, thank the fucking gods.

“Come on, let’s get away from here,” Rick suggested. They turned around and walked off, wondering in just who or what had managed to wrangle every walker into such a compact area.

Getting further away, the commotion faded into the background, but then there was a sudden new noise, coming from the next street over. The distinctive rumble and revving of motors, rapid and loud, growing closer to where Rick and Negan stopped in disturbed alarm.

They weren’t alone here.

It wasn’t long before the mystery revealed itself, as several men on motorcycles appeared at the end of the street, coming straight towards them.

“Shit, we got company,” Negan hissed, “and I don’t think it’s the welcome wagon.”

Turning around only revealed more motorcycles springing up from the other end, trapping them. This was not good. Not fucking good at all.

The guttural roar of the bikes quickly surrounded Rick and Negan, encasing them within a circle with no chance of escape. There were eight riders in all, a rough, scowly bunch of dangerous-looking men clad in metal, leather and denim. Some of them aimed guns or rifles, making Rick and Negan raise their hands amongst the clicks of hammers. They didn’t look too pleased as they glowered at these outsiders who were encroaching on their territory.

They were definitely _not_ the welcome wagon.

“What’s your business here?” one of them demanded with a hardened rasp, a gruff older man with a beer belly and a long, grey beard down to his tits, clearly the leader of this gang. He held up a single-barrel pistol.

Rick was sweating, eyes nervously flicking to each member of the crew. He had an awful feeling pooling in the pit of his stomach. People were a far bigger threat than walkers, almost always, and this was not going to be an exception.

“Aw crap, we made a wrong turn and somehow ended up here,” Negan said with an innocent smile, cool and calm. “Didn’t mean to rouse the rabble,” he stated, referring to the walkers in the background who were still in a state of upheaval. “Sorry about that. We’ll just get skedaddling now, lickety split. No need for you fine gentlemen to see us out.”

“I don’t think so. I’ll ask one more time, what are you doing in our city?”

_Fuck._

“Look, we don’t want any trouble,” Rick pleaded, hands raised a little higher. “We’re lost. We’re just trying to find out where we are, that’s all. So, if – if you could tell us what city this is, we’ll be on our way.”

“This is Maddox City,” the leader said, “and you’re trespassing. We don’t take very kindly to trespassers.”

Great, this idiot renamed the city after himself. Now they’ll never know where the fuck they really were. But whatever, right now they only needed to get the hell out of there.

“Alright, we’ll leave now-“

“Not so fast,” the gang leader barked, stern and unforgiving. “There’s a price for coming in here. You step foot into this city, you gotta pay a toll. _Both of you_.”

That gut-wrenching feeling in Rick’s stomach got ten times worse, his insides felt all tight and twisty like a bag of pretzels. “But, but we don’t have anything,” Rick declared.

“Well, what’s in the bag?” the biker asked, pointing his pistol at the backpack Negan was carrying. “You got guns, bullets, batteries? Anything of use?”

These fuckers had an entire city to themselves yet they wanted what was in their backpack? “Nothing you’d want,” Negan assured him, “unless dirty laundry and a raggy sleeping bag is your kinda thing.”

The stoic looks Rick and Negan were receiving weren’t comforting at all.

“We have nothing of value,” Rick reiterated, trying to keep his voice steady. “You can check if you want, but we don’t have anything, I swear.”

A slow, wide smirk spread across the leader’s heavily bearded, grizzled face, revealing bad dental hygiene. “Sure you do,” he insisted, “couple of lookers like you always got _something_ to offer.” He said it all sleazy and dirty-sounding too. The other bikers laughed in apparent agreement, nodding and exchanging amused, knowing glances with each other like they were in on some crude inside joke.

Rick and Negan looked at each other, the phrase, _‘what the fuck’_ etched all over their faces.

Perhaps the guy meant something else by that statement. They had to have misunderstood. Why jump to the worst possible interpretation?

But then why were they all looking at them like a pair of juicy porterhouse steaks with all the trimmings?

_Fuck._

When the snickering died down, the leader addressed his men. “Skarky, Gunner, you come with me to get the big boss. Bloodshot and Skullcap, take these fellas to the pen and keep an eye on 'em.”

“The ' _big boss'_?” asked Negan, “you mean, you're not in charge here?”

“I lead the southern quadrant of this city,” the man answered. “There’s more of us that oversee the other parts. But the big boss, Maddox, runs the whole show. _'The Butcher'_ Maddox. He's got a big appetite for _fresh meat_ ,” he punctuated with an unsavory grin. “He'll decide what to do with you fellas.”

 

* * *

 

Rick and Negan soon found themselves being unceremoniously shoved into a holding area, a narrow cut-out of a building that resembled an alleyway but with only one entrance. And the entrance was closed off by a gate of metal and chainlink, which the bikers slammed shut in the prisoners' faces with much delight. They secured the gate with a thick, rusty chain looped through the bars of the double doors, snapping a giant padlock on it.

“Been a while since we've had some good entertainment 'round here,” one of the bikers leered, smirking through the chainlink like he was ridiculing animals in a zoo exhibit. He must've been the one called Bloodshot, judging by his left eye that was redder than a baboon's ass, like he had burst a blood vessel from pushing out a turd too hard. “When the Butcher gets here, you gonna pay him the ‘toll’. Then he's gonna decide how to divvy you up between all of us, heh.”

Rick hooked his fingers around the metal links. “Wait, you don’t have to do this, just let us go and we’ll never bother you again. Please.”

“I’ve got my eye on you, cute thing,” the cretin drawled, the words lecherous and unsanitary. “Gonna find out if your ass tastes as sweet as you look. Fuck yeah.” And with that uplifting message, he turned and walked away a few yards to the street curb to join his other biker friend.

Rick and Negan now had some time to ponder a most critical question. What the holy fuck had they gotten themselves into?

Once again they were being held captive for some rather impure purposes. Why did this keep happening? _The fuck was wrong with people?_

“We gotta get out of here before this Butcher guy shows up,” Negan said, “I don’t think he’s coming to greet us with flowers and chocolate.”

“How are we going to do that? We don’t have much time,” Rick replied.

They were surrounded by three brick walls and a ten-foot high gate which faced the street. Outside, off to the right, two guards stood along the curb with their backs turned – Bloodshot and another man, a giant hulking bald guy who looked like he could mop the sidewalk with someone’s face. The guards didn’t seem to have firearms on them, which was good news, but Bloodshot did have a large, serious-looking hunting knife strapped to his hip. They were engrossed in some highly riveting conversation between them, not paying much attention to their captives.

Over to the left, one of the biker’s motorcycle was parked along the street. Rick and Negan’s backpack, which was taken from them, sat propped up against a lamppost next to the bike.

“Here’s what we’ll do,” Negan said, hushed and low. “I’ll give you a boost and you climb over the gate. The key is sitting on the seat of that bike. Get the key and open the gate. We’ll take off on the bike before they realize what’s happening. We’ve gotta be fucking quiet to pull this off.”

The weight of both their fates now rested on Rick’s shoulders. He swallowed hard, jittery with anxiety, palms clammier than a seafood buffet. But he didn’t have any other ideas. What was worse was that he’d have to go out there completely unarmed. Their only knife was still in their confiscated backpack.

“But what if they see me?”

Negan considered it for a second and then reached into his inner jacket pocket and produced a small object. “Here, take this,” he offered, unfolding the blade of a straight razor he had picked up in a barber shop a few months back.

Rick took the razor and stared at it in disbelief. The steel blade was about three and a half inches long on a slender wooden handle. It was sharp but it was so pathetically small. Was he supposed to defend himself with this puny thing?

“I know, but it’s all we’ve got,” Negan stated, reading the enormous doubt on Rick’s startled face.

They walked up to the gate, watching the guards still with their backs turned, chattering away on the latest gang gossip. Negan boosted Rick up as Rick grappled onto the upper horizontal bars of the gate as silently as he could, the razor clenched in his teeth. Ascending slowly to avoid the jangling of the chainlink, his heart almost stopped each time the slightest noise was made.

The bikers were still engaged in oblivious chatter as Rick swung his legs over the top of the gate and started his descent on the other side. If he was caught now, he’d be super fucked. When his feet touched the pavement, Rick felt a wave of relief. He was out, but it wasn’t over yet. Through the wired links of the gate, Rick locked eyes with Negan, who gave Rick a nod of encouragement.

He zipped towards the motorcycle with his head ducked down, as if that could make him invisible. Rick palmed the key off the seat and stealthed his way back to the gate. With shaky hands, he inserted the key in the padlock, turning it with a click that seemed too loud but only reached Rick’s ears.

But then the heavy chain fell away, the thick rusty links scraping against the bars and _that_ wasn’t quiet at all. It made a big, metallic racket that was probably heard clear across the city.

_“HEY!”_ yelled the guard with the bloody eye, spinning around to see Rick on the wrong side of the gate trying to fiddle with the chain. Furious as fuck, he charged towards the escapee, unsheathing the hunting knife from his belt, his arm reared back ready to stab the shit out of Rick.

Rick heard the yell, heard the stomping of the biker’s boots running towards him. Reacting purely on instinct, Rick whirled around and blindly lashed out with his right arm, just as the biker came into striking distance, slashing the man directly in the jugular with the straight razor with blurry-fast quickness.

_“URGH!”_ Blood spilled from the wound as the biker let out a stunned cry, grabbing his own throat with his free hand to ebb the flow. But this only enraged him further. The cut was accurate but not deep enough to stop him from advancing on Rick, hoisting the massive, jagged knife high above his head, blade pointed downwards, the metal glowing fiery in the sun.

Rick’s breath hitched.

But then the biker was abruptly pulled back in mid-swing as Negan grabbed him from behind, wrapping an arm around the biker’s neck, forcibly craning the man’s head back with neck bones cracking, splitting the wound open wider and making it pour. The biker flailed and screamed, crimson gushing everywhere, the knife in his hand stabbing the air in wild, desperate struggle.

Not letting go of the choke hold, Negan grabbed the man’s hand that held the knife, turning the knife inwards towards the biker’s chest. Rick could see the biker’s eyes go wide as Negan plunged the blade into the biker’s heart, hear the crunch of steel through solid bone. Blood sputtered from the man’s mouth as he slid towards the ground, the knife still jutting out of his expired body.

It all happened within a matter of seconds. The dead man hadn’t even hit the concrete when the second guard – the bald biker built like a brick wall – slammed a meaty fist into Negan’s face, making Negan see a flash of stars as he flew a few feet sideways, the force sending him reeling.

Negan regained his footing, a growl deep in his throat. This guard was all muscle, a bulldozing tank of a goliath. The guy wasn’t carrying a weapon, but he didn’t need one. He came at Negan again, face contorted in rage with a crown of veins sprouting around his bald scalp, intent on pulverizing the one who had killed his fellow gang mate.

Not waiting for the next attack, Negan barreled into the biker, tackling him like a pro linebacker, sending them both slamming into the ground where they started a savage wrestling match, a brutal beatdown to the bloody death.

Rick dove towards the dead body of the first guard and grabbed the knife embedded in the chest, wrenching it free with a sharp crack of bone. Clasping the handle with both hands, Rick went to stand over the brawling pair, looking for a clear opportunity.

The burly biker rolled on top of Negan, closing his hands around Negan’s neck. Rick struck, ramming the full length of the nine-inch blade down into the biker’s back, between the shoulders. The man exploded in howling agony as Rick yanked the knife out with a sick, flesh-ripping squelch and then thrust the blade down again, twisting and turning it with not a shred of mercy. Rick drove the knife harder with dizzying intensity, his strained grip on the handle becoming slick with sweat, even after the anguished wailings had trailed off.

“Come on, Rick, let’s go!” shouted Negan, who had crawled out from under the now very deceased biker.

They rushed to the motorcycle, Negan climbing on to start the engine. The bike thundered to life as Rick grabbed their backpack and hopped on behind Negan. They tore out of there, leaving behind two grisly heaps of biker meat for the rest of the gang to remember them by.

But there was no time for celebration because the angry revving of other motorcycles were heard coming after them. Glancing behind them, Rick could spot three bikers giving chase, and boy, did they look _fucking pissed_.

Well, they had killed two of their buddies and stolen a bike. Maybe that had something to do with it.

They ripped through the streets at max velocity, burning hot rubber on asphalt as Rick clutched on for dear life. The roaring of the engine made eardrums rattle as Negan pushed the machine to its absolute limits, racing towards the same bridge they had entered from.

And then something whizzed past Rick’s ear.

“They’re shooting at us!” Rick shouted in terror, looking behind them to glimpse one of the bikers aiming a revolver.

The bridge was just up ahead, one of the only exits in this godforsaken place. It was a straight shot to freedom as they blew past the city limits onto the bridge, over the rushing river, another bullet flying past them. Rick instinctively ducked his head at the sound of the shot, pulse racing as fast as the bike. Negan veered to the left as another shot missed them, then veered to the right trying to create a hard target, never letting up on the speed.

Rick popped his head up to look behind them, noticing they were gaining a slight bit of distance from their pursuers. They caught air coming off the bridge, wind whistling in their ears as they hurtled into the outlying neighborhoods. Maybe they could lose them now, in this grid of narrower roads and residential housing. Tires screeching on a sharp turn, they cut between two buildings and onto the unpaved pathways.

They barreled through the back roads, the sounds of the other motorcycles fading the farther they got. The gunshots had stopped. Eventually, Rick looked behind them and nobody was there.

“I think they’re gone,” Rick said.

“We’re not stopping,” Negan replied. “Not taking any chances.”

Maybe the bikers got tired, maybe they ran out of bullets. Maybe they decided that Rick and Negan just weren’t worth it. Whatever the case, it didn’t matter one fucking iota.

They slowed down to a normal speed but kept riding, the rhythmic thrumming carrying them back towards the wilderness. They rode for miles until they were safely away from all things urban, the visual of the city’s skyline on the horizon reduced small enough to fit inside one of those cheap souvenir snowglobes.

When they ran out of gas, they ditched the bike off the side of the road, continuing on foot.

 

* * *

 

The day ended with little fanfare, the sky falling dark on this day that was so magnificently fucked. They camped for the night, being too tired to find proper shelter. They built a small fire, the flames swirling in the evening breeze, a meager balm for their battered spirits.

They had escaped by the peach fuzz on their backsides, which was certainly a huge relief, but ultimately, the choking bitterness of disappointment settled in. That city was supposed to be their golden ticket, and now it felt like they had been knocked back to square one. They could have been on their merry way home by now, cruising pretty in a smooth, cozy ride. Instead, they were out on their asses again with no reprieve in sight.

“I can’t believe this,” Negan huffed. “It took us forever to get there only to step into that side show clusterfuck.”

Rick wrapped his arms around himself. “I know,” he sighed, feeling as drained as he sounded. “What counts is that we made it out of there. But now we have to keep moving, find the next city.” The words were said with no amount of enthusiasm, heavy like a stone in his throat.

Who knew how far the next city was? It could be just around the bend or hundreds of miles away for all they knew. It was a bleak and daunting thought, like they were right back at starting line, their path as clear as mud at this point.

But they would have to deal with it.

“By the way, good job back there, the way you skewered that big guy like a shish kabob,” Negan commented. “You should’ve seen his face. It was priceless.”

“Um, thanks…I think.”

Receiving commendation from Negan on his people-killing talents was either terrible or flattering. Rick wasn’t sure yet which one it was.

“You can be pretty brutal,” Negan added.

“When I need to be,” Rick explained. “And you didn’t do too bad yourself.”

“They thought we were just a couple of Joe Blows. Bet they never expected us to work them the fuck over like that.”

Rick gazed across the fire to catch Negan’s lopsided grin. They looked at each other, tiny reflected flames shimmering in their irises. Rick’s tone took on an edge, the corner of his mouth ticking up ever so slightly.

“They didn’t know who they were dealing with.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't plan on having this chapter, but this chapter does two things: I wanted a scene where Rick and Negan kill some bad guys, because killing people together has gotta be a good bonding experience, right? :D I also needed another reason to extend their time in the wilderness. But I really have to wrap this arc up, so there will be one more Rick/Negan chapter, and then the final chapter.


	10. Chapter 10

It was a sad state of affairs when a jar of marshmallow fluff and a roll of cough drops were their best finds over the last three days.

A string of bad luck had befallen them, a rain cloud of misfortune following them ever since that run-in with the biker gang a few weeks ago. Winter may have been over, but its leftover  tendrils still had their chilly grip everywhere. Food was scarce, zapping their energy to meager levels. They were getting shitty mileage on their own two feet, covering less and less ground as each day merged into the next.

Things were sucking pretty bad, alright. With no choice but to soldier on, they just hoped things would turn around for them and soon.

They stopped by a lonely truck stop convenience store/gift shop off the side of the road, the only place around for miles looking like it had already been ravaged hard by someone before them. Upon entering, a small bell above the door jingled its welcome.

The place was in dismal condition with its busted windows and the stench of spoilage. Glass from a smashed soft drink bottle littered the floor, a writhing mass of ants having a field day on the dried up high-fructose syrup.

Their footsteps made sticky-crunch noises as they browsed the shelves looking for anything remotely consumable. Passing by what used to be the hot food station, they eyed the roller grill machine topped with several shriveled up logs wearing furry coats of mold, presumably hot dogs once upon a time. Once upon a _long_ fucking time.

“Hey, look,” Negan said holding up a single packet of dry steak seasoning. “Now all we need to do is grill up some fat ass prime-cut filets and we’ve got ourselves a party.”

Rick continued to scrutinize the barren food shelves, investigating every inch of vacant space as if a full seven-course dinner would materialize if only he looked hard enough. “There’s got to be something more in here. Keep looking.”

“We could try our luck on those fungal dogs over there.”

“What? And get sick? No thanks.”

“Christ, I was just kidding. I wouldn’t eat those shit sticks even if I was literally starving to death. Which I pretty much am, actually.”

Rick huffed a breathy sigh as he picked up a hollow, crumpled up box of crackers with only crumbs inside. “Alright, let’s go. I don’t think there’s anything else here.”

As they headed out the door, they walked past the gift shelf with the junky knick-knacks and cheap trinkets. Something caught Rick’s eye and he stopped for a moment, glossing over a display of souvenir picture frames. In one of them, behind a film of dust, was an image of a happy family – a perfect-looking couple with two smiley little kids, a boy and a girl.

It was just a generic stock photo. The family in the picture wasn’t even real, but it struck a sour chord in Rick’s chest, like his heartstrings were an out-of-tune banjo someone was mindlessly plucking away at.

He should be home by now but he wasn’t. He should be there for his kids making sure they were safe but he wasn’t. Every day he was trying his damnedest to find a way back home, but home never felt farther than it did right then.

Negan’s voice could be heard coming from outside. “Hey Rick, what’s the hold up?”

Rick tore his eyes off the picture and exited the shop, flinging the door open as the bell chimed a cheerful farewell. Making their way across the lot towards the main road, Negan glanced over his shoulder at a rather disjointed Rick lumbering behind to catch up. The guy had definitely seen better days.

“Everything peachy over there, Rick?”

“I’m fine.”

“I ask because you look like a used up toilet brush that’s seen the inside of too many shitters at a bad Mexican restaurant.” Negan’s tone wasn’t ridiculing or mocking though; in fact, he was observing Rick with something that could be interpreted as concern.

“I’m just a little tired,” Rick groaned. “I’m fine. Let’s keep moving.”

How long had they been traveling this narrow two-lane road with its pothole-ridden asphalt? Rick didn’t even know anymore. The scenery hardly ever changed - it was all trees, foliage and road as far as the eye could see. It felt like walking on a giant treadmill – they were going nowhere, and going nowhere _very slowly_.

Maybe Negan was right after all. Rick recalled the argument they had back in the beginning of this ordeal, when Negan was pissed because they hadn’t waited for Simon after they escaped. _‘We could’ve been better off,’_ Negan had said, had they taken Simon’s car.

Now that Rick thought about it, maybe they should have done that. Maybe they could have subdued Simon and forced him to tell them the way home. Maybe there were maps in Simon’s car. Why hadn’t Rick thought of those possibilities instead of being too cautious and antsy to just get the hell out of there?

And then they just picked a random direction and started walking. Who knew if they were getting closer or farther from home with every step they took? Damn, they should have gone the opposite way, Rick mused, and maybe they would have had better luck.

But all the wouldas, couldas and shouldas in the world didn’t amount to shit. They were stuck out here and they had to deal with it.

When it got too late to find shelter, they found a spot to set up camp in the woods, next to a fallen tree log.

Rick immediately plopped himself down on the log, incredibly exhausted, hungry and sore. He was homesick. He missed his kids. He wanted nothing more than to be magically whisked away back home, like in some Wizard of Oz-type fairy tale ending. But since that wasn’t happening any time soon, he might as well just sit there and pout his ass off.

Negan was hunched over the ground setting up a campfire, arranging sticks, rocks and dry grass in the most inelegant way possible while Rick watched.

“Negan, you’re not supposed to do it that way,” Rick chided, “you’re supposed to lay the kindling on the bottom and place the wood-”

“I’ve built hundreds of fires this way, thank you very much,” Negan quipped.

“But you get a better fire if you prop up the wood pieces in a teepee style so the kindling gets the air it needs. It’s very basic. Everyone knows that.”

Negan stopped and looked up quizzically. “So after all this time, you’re now deciding to be nitpicky about my fires? I don’t see you busting your butt to help.”

“I _am_ helping,” Rick insisted, “by telling you the right way to do it.” Crossing his arms, he puffed out a sigh. “Fine, just forget it. Do it how you want.”

Negan did just that, disregarding Rick’s sage advice. “I’m just setting a bunch of sticks on fire, not recreating the frigging Sistine Chapel.” He could feel the glare of Rick's disapproval boring into the side of his head. “You know, you’ve been extra pissy and moany lately,” Negan tossed out as an afterthought. “Just an observation.”

Rick sank his teeth down on his bottom lip, holding back a snarky retort. It was no use to start an argument with Negan here, so he said nothing. It was too petty an issue to even bring up - how to build a freakin’ campfire for god sakes. Rick didn’t know why he ever mentioned it. He observed as the other man still worked on lighting the fire, shaking his head out of Negan’s view.

What a pair they were.

But yet they had their moments.

After all this time, Rick had come to change his perspective of Negan. Turned out that Negan wasn’t the evil incarnate devil spawn Rick had believed he was. But beyond that, he still wasn’t sure what to make of Negan. With the over-the-top persona, off-color jokes and incessant cussing, Negan was, in a word, well…Negan. There wasn’t any better way to describe him.

Sure, they’d gotten to know each other, and yeah, they worked well together when shit got heavy, but still, Rick wouldn’t call them friends. Traveling companions maybe, or perhaps situational accomplices? Rick wasn’t sure what they were to each other now, it was something he couldn’t decipher and frankly, it didn’t matter. Because once this was all over, they’d go back to their own corners and carry on as they had before.

This was a partnership based on survival. That’s what they had and that’s all it was.

Rick decided to just leave it at that.

The evening concluded with no further snippiness and things settled into a drowsy lull, the wooded surroundings dimming into darker shades of night. As usual when they camped, Negan took first watch as Rick slept. As Rick burrowed snugly into the sleeping bag, zipping it closed, he was determined to get in his six hours of undisturbed slumber before he had to switch places with Negan.

He just needed some sleep, that’s all. Surely, he should feel better when he woke.

 

* * *

 

A few hours in, Rick was dreaming.

He dreamt of home, of a cozy living room, a roaring fireplace. Dinner on the table. His children were there, laughing and happy. Faces of friends, family and neighbors glowing bright with warmness in their smiles. Everyone healthy and whole. Safe and serene. It was all he could ask for, in this one room where he stood, life was complete.

Yet there was a feeling that something was missing, something misplaced and forgotten. It grew, gnawing inside him like a mouse, quietly scratching and flitting. Orbited by his dearest of friends, he searched but still couldn’t remember. He reached into his pockets but his hands found only emptiness. And now, for some reason Rick couldn’t understand, back at home surrounded by familiarity, he never felt more lost.

 

* * *

 

 Rick woke up to an unsettling, blistering silence. Focusing against the darkness, he expected to find Negan sitting by, except he didn’t. Negan wasn’t there. Craning his head around, Rick found no signs of the other man. He was simply… gone.

_What the fuck?_

The fire had burnt out, the leftover embers emitting a soft orange glow, slowly turning cold. The log where Negan was last seen sitting was just a bare, hollow piece of lumber. It didn’t make sense. Negan was always there when Rick woke up. He was _always there._

In confusion, Rick struggled out of the sleeping bag and leapt to his feet, eyes darting around, his mind wracking for an explanation. And then it came to him. Negan’s words sprang back to Rick’s mind, once again recalling their argument from months ago, vividly clear as the very moment Negan had said them. _‘Don’t think I wouldn’t ditch your lame ass out here. When I get sick of your shit, Rick, I’ll just leave and you won’t even know it.’_

And suddenly, the world crashed.

It was as if the entire ground was pulled out from under Rick all at once, feeling like he’d been sucker punched full in the gut, it became hard to draw in breath.

_‘You won’t even know it.’_

Those words, now a harsh echo in his ears, had bothered Rick at the time and now they’ve finally come to fruition.

Negan had fucking left him. Rick couldn’t believe it. _Stupid!_ No one survived on their own out here. He knew that. Negan knew that. What the hell was that asshole thinking? And why? Because they had some dumb fucking spat earlier about absolutely _nothing?_

The sense of bewilderment was staggering as Rick took an uneven step as the ground shifted unstable beneath his feet. In all of two seconds, the memories of the past months flooded his mind, flashbacks slamming against his frontal lobe. All they had been through together. Watching out and protecting each other. Fighting and surviving together. All they had talked about and shared with one another. All wiped away now, like none of it mattered. Gone like Negan was.

In the dead of night, on these forested lands, Rick just stood there, blank and numb.

How could Negan just...leave him?

It was then that a small rustling sound came from behind Rick and he whipped around, almost violently, only to be met with the sight of...

Negan.

Negan just standing there casually like nothing happened.

Rick blinked, furrowing in stunned puzzlement, making sure he wasn’t seeing things. It really was Negan, in the flesh, and not an illusion. Finally, Rick managed to open his mouth to make sounds come out.

“Where were you?”

“Had to take a leak,” Negan simply replied, gesturing behind himself at a group of trees.

Huh.

Perhaps on different night, Rick would have simply nodded, murmured out an “okay,” mentally chastised himself for being silly and went back to sleep without another thought.

But tonight was not that night.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing!” Rick exploded in rage. “You can’t just wander off like that without fucking telling me! What if something happened? What if we were attacked? What the hell were you thinking? You could’ve gotten us killed!” Rick was hollering into the night air, in the middle of the woods, all caution be damned. He couldn’t stop himself. He was livid, spitting fire, arms flailing in blustering anger, the words erupting out of him in the worst bout of verbal diarrhea he’s ever had. 

Negan, taken aback at this uncharacteristic display from a normally composed Rick, was not about to be outdone in a shouting match.

“What the fucking hell is wrong with you, Rick?” Negan thundered back. “Fuck almighty, I gotta tell you every time I take a fucking piss? Are you goddamn _shitting me?_ ”

“You’re supposed to be on watch!” Rick screamed, finger jabbing the air at Negan, erratic and accusing. “That was your damn job and you can’t even do it right!”

“Well excuse the fuck outta me! Holy fucking hell! What crawled up your shit chute and died? Are you seriously raging a bitchfit because I had to piss? Next time I’ll just take a hot, sizzling piss right on your head, okay? Would that make you happy?”

“Goddamn it, it’s not about that! You don’t get it! You never fucking _get it_!”

Somewhere hidden deep in the rational part of their minds, they knew this was ridiculous, that it was stupid and dangerous what they were doing, but they couldn’t stop. Their voices boomed all around, angry sound waves traveling far and wide, increasing in decibels the more heated they got.

“Then what the fuck is it about, Rick? What the fuck don’t I get that’s got your panties twisted tighter than a nun’s asshole? Tell me!”

“We’re exposed out here! You can’t just go running off whenever the hell you feel like it! I thought you were smarter than that!”

“I _ran off_? Jesus H Fucking Christ, I was only gone for thirty lousy fucking seconds!”

“That’s exactly it!” Rick roared, his throat strained and raw. “You…were… _gone!_ ”

The woods fell silent then, the last word a shuddering echo around them, imprinting itself into every tree, branch and leaf that bore witness to this madness. Negan gave a confused stare, but before he could decipher the meaning, the telltale growling of multiple undead could be heard, and they were _close_. They must have attracted every corpse within a ten mile radius with their recklessly ill-conceived caterwauling.

“Shit, we gotta go,” Negan hissed in panic.

Rick heard the walkers, now realizing his folly. They scrambled to pack up, cramming their gear into the backpack in terrified frenzy as shadowy figures materialized out of the darkness, steadily approaching.

They bolted out of there, walkers all around now in plain sight, a wall of them blocking the way as even more kept coming from every direction. Rick and Negan barreled through them, knocking back and dodging gnarled, outstretched arms and snapping teeth, weaving a narrow pathway through the crowd towards the main road. 

The silvery blue light of the moon illuminated their path as they reached the open road, oncoming walkers taking swipes at them as they charged past. They hurtled down the long stretch of asphalt, shocks of adrenaline blasting through them in full blown survival mode. The dead poured out of the woods en masse, converging onto the road forming a massive horde.

They could do nothing but run. They kept running and didn’t dare stop. They ran for forever into the long, clear night, for what felt like miles on end. Ran until their lungs burned dry and their legs gave out, until there was not a trace left of a walker behind them. In the end, they felt like they finished a full marathon at non-stop full speed, collapsing onto the road, heaving and gasping and completely _wrecked_.

Laying sprawled out in the open, draped by moonlit sheens of sweat, they managed cheat death once again. They could have fallen asleep right there, but they had to keep moving in case danger caught up to them. They spent the remainder of the night walking, dragging their bodies along to the chirping soundtrack of crickets, neither of them saying much to the other.

Rick felt the burn of shame, utterly mortified by his own behavior. It was irrational and inexcusable. He never expected he could have reacted that way over Negan’s brief disappearing act. Why had he done that? He had completely flipped the fuck out, lost his shit in the worst way, and by doing so, he had endangered both their lives. It was unnerving, sobering and quite eye-opening.

By the time dawn arrived, the sky growing luminous in soft pink and violet hues, they were drop dead exhausted, shuffling on each step like a couple of stiff, old fogey geriatrics. The scenery transitioned from woods to farmlands, and there among the untilled soil and withered crops, they spotted a barn.

Climbing up to the loft with their last ounce of strength, they mechanically prepared their sleeping area, like they had done so many times that it had become second nature. They settled in, blanketed under the sleeping bag, laying on their sides with Negan behind Rick. They still hadn’t spoken, but neither were angry anymore; they were too tired and relieved they were even alive. Yet, Rick still couldn’t shake the dark cloud of guilt lingering over his head.

“I’m sorry...for yelling at you,” Rick said, croaky with regret. “I really shouldn’t have done that.”

Negan responded in a low, tired rumble. “Don’t sweat it.” His voice sounded so close to Rick’s ear. “But what the hell was that all about anyway?”

Rick shrank into himself, unsure of what to say. “I, I don’t know, I was...,” he hesitated and swallowed thickly. “I thought you left.”

There was a pause and a confused ‘huh’ sound. “Why would you think I’d leave?”

“Well, you said - from before, you said that you’d leave when you got sick of me,” Rick stated, embarrassed, thinking he sounded so insecure, half expecting to hear snickering and some smart-alecky remark along the lines of how sensitive and emotional he was.

Rick felt rather than heard Negan draw in and exhale a breath, shift slightly behind him. “I’m sorry,” Negan said in a surprising apology. “I’ll take that back if you don’t mind.” He actually sounded remorseful and it caught Rick off guard, made his heart beat a little faster. “I talk out of my ass sometimes,” Negan admitted, “just so you know.”

“Yeah,” Rick breathed out a short laugh, “yeah, I know.”

Perhaps in a reassuring gesture or an extension of his apology, Negan placed his arm around Rick, lightly draping it over Rick’s waist. “I wouldn’t leave you, no matter how much of a pain in the ass you are,” Negan declared.

Despite the not-so-veiled insult, Rick’s insides melted at those words, felt a warmth spread through his chest and face. He lightly placed his hand over Negan’s, keeping it in place.

Negan pressed closer against Rick’s back, curling his arm around Rick a little tighter as he whisperingly added, ”I’m not letting you get rid of me that easily.”

They closed their eyes to darkness, even as the outside world grew lighter with the rising sun. A small, unseen smile tugged at Rick’s lips as he lay perfectly still, head heavy against the floorboard. A short, nearly inaudible reply escaped him before succumbing to a deep sleep.

_“Good.”_

 

* * *

 

It was a long, cold transition from the end of winter to spring, but the days were turning warmer, the trees fuller, and it seemed that Old Man Winter finally had the courtesy to fuck off and die.

They continued the hike onwards, marching to an invisible drummer banging a silent drum, free from random bickering and snide commentary. Since their big blow-up in the woods, it seemed they had turned a new page, but not without acquiring a few papercuts in the process.

Rick thought a lot about the future, or rather, he didn’t know what to think about it. Heck, he didn’t know what to think about anything at this point.

Rick still had no clue what he and Negan were to each other, even now, but they weren’t enemies anymore - they couldn’t be, not after all this time. Still, they never talked about what would happen after they made it home. The original agreement was that everything would return back to the way it was. But that felt so wrong to Rick. He couldn’t imagine going back to the same dynamics – Alexandria under the tyranny of the Saviors, his people existing in pants-shitting fear, Negan waving a bat in Rick’s face demanding compliance or else, and all the cringey mockery that came with it.

No, things were _different_ between them now. It had to be different going forward as well.

As they walked together, Rick knew he had to broach the topic, but it could get a bit touchy. “So…,” he started, “have you thought about what will happen after we get back, what you’re going to do?”

“Indeed I have,” Negan replied. “Take back the Sanctuary, turn Simon into pulp, eat a sandwich and get myself laid. Not necessarily in that order.”

“I meant after that,” Rick clarified. “The future of our communities. How we’re going to move forward. It can’t go back to the way it was, not now, don’t you think?”

Negan threw Rick a sideways glance. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, things can be different,” Rick tried to explain. “Not one-sided. Not one community browbeating the other. It doesn’t have to be like that. We can work something else out.” 

Negan slowed his pace, not responding right away. Rick tried to gauge the man’s reaction but it was like reading a bowl of mud, and Rick suddenly felt like the lowly mailroom clerk trying to tell the CEO how to run the company.

“Look, Rick. I know it sucks for you. It sucks big, sweaty donkey balls. The Saviors are a bunch of schoolyard bullies who steal the lunch money from all the other kids. I know that,” Negan said with surprising cognizance. “But that’s the way it’s gotta be, because that’s how Sanctuary survives. I’ve got two hundred people relying on me to keep them fed and clothed and whatnot, and contrary to popular belief, I _do_ care. And if I didn’t keep delivering, all hell would’ve broken loose.”

Rick saw an opening for a real discussion. “Okay, I get it. You found a method that works for you. It works, so why change it, right? But what if there’s another way? We could start trading.”

“Already tried the trading route. Sanctuary doesn’t have anything to trade, not anything other communities want, anyway. Turns out people want real home-grown food and shit. No one is banging on our door for pickles and gelato, oddly enough.”

“Then why don’t you grow your own food? I could even help get you started-“

“Yeah, tried that too,” Negan interrupted, “way back in the beginning. We planted tomatoes and lettuce and all that good stuff, only to have everything die within weeks. We tried it over and over. We even had people singing to those goddamn plants. Nothing worked. All that dirt is as fertile as salted bleach.”

“Then maybe they weren’t the right kinds of plants. There’s all sorts of plants that can thrive in less than ideal conditions. There’s got to be something that can grow there. We just need to figure out what it is, and I can help with that,” Rick offered. “Alexandria can help. We can try to transplant some of what we have. We have skilled gardeners that can teach your people how to farm.”

They were standing in the road, having an impromptu leader meeting in the middle of nowhere. Negan almost expected Rick to whip out some pamphlets and a slideshow presentation, so determined Rick was to lift his community out of the deep, dark craphole they were in. Couldn’t blame Rick for trying, though. Negan knew very well the craphole they were in – he had put them there after all, and then took a big shit on them. Yup, shit on them hard.

“And what if that doesn’t work?” Negan questioned. “We’ll have wasted a shit ton of time and resources for a whole lotta nothing.”

“We’ll never know unless we try,” Rick stressed. “And if it doesn’t work, we’ll figure something else out. We could trade for labor instead. Send some of your men to work in Alexandria’s gardens or our infrastructure projects and we can get things done twice as fast. But the main thing is that we work together – as allies, as equals. It would be good for everyone. A better future for everyone.”

Negan didn’t doubt Rick’s sincerity. Rick meant every word he said, every overly idealistic, glitter-coated word topped with magical rainbow sprinkles. And yet, even as Negan knew the dogshit chances of their communities ever working together in harmony, he couldn’t help but be affected by Rick’s optimism, just a little.

And although Negan wasn’t jumping at the idea, he wasn’t shooting Rick down either.

Sensing the ambivalence, Rick made one more appeal. “All this time we’ve been out here, we proved that we work well together. There’s no reason why we shouldn’t continue working together after we get back. I mean, things are different between us now,” he concluded, searching for a hint that Negan felt the same. “It’s different now…” he said again, the cadence in his words now sounding unsure, “…isn’t it?”

The uncertainty in Rick’s question tugged something inside Negan. The state of their relationship had come a long way since they first met on that bloody, fateful night, that much was obvious. But what they had between them now was some vague and undefined thing, a shifting amoeba that had evolved into something they couldn’t describe with actual words. Or maybe they weren’t ready to yet.

“Yeah, Rick, things are different,” Negan confirmed, noticing the way Rick perked up a bit.

“Then let’s give it a shot,” Rick implored. “When we get back, give it six months. I know it’s a big change from how you usually do things, but if we don’t at least try, we’ll never know what’s possible. And if things aren’t better in six months, well…then we can go back to the way things were. Your call.”

Rick waited for the response, uneasy as he watched Negan glance off into the distance, seemingly giving it some serious thought. But as the seconds dragged on, Rick was beginning to think that Negan was going to drop-kick his suggestion square in the nutbag and into the gutter.

“Ah, shit. What the hell. Alright,” Negan sighed. “But I’m giving it three months.”

It was more than what Rick had hoped for and he nodded his agreement, internally rejoicing. For the first time since the Saviors were inflicted upon his people, Rick felt real hope for the future. As they continued to walk down the road, striding alongside the other, they felt even more like they were headed into unchartered territory.

While nothing was set in stone, if they could reshuffle the deck and play their cards right this time, perhaps a war could be averted and maybe, just maybe, the world might suck a little less.

 

* * *

 

The days stretched longer as time carried on, the nights shorter and brisk. They still seemed stuck in an endless scavenging slump, surviving one day at a time, squeaking by with the little food they could find. They were traveling less, opting to focus their energy on foraging and hunting instead. And though they were getting along better, working together better, they felt no closer to their final destination than when they first started.

They came across another tiny, backwater, rinky-dink town, long looted and vacated, nothing left but trash blowing through like synthetic tumbleweeds. Still, they hoped by sheer dumb luck they would stumble upon a miracle windfall, but alas, after hours of searching with their best scavenging tricks they only managed to scrape together enough food to barely get them through another day.

Stepping out of the last shop, Negan leaned against the post that held up the storefront’s tattered awning, looking out into the dusty, dirt road of the ramshackle town. The sun dipped behind dilapidated rooftops, hard shadows splaying across the scene. “How long do you think we’ve been out here, Rick? It’s gotta be what - five, six months?”

How many times had the Earth spun around on its axis by now? There was no way to tell exactly how much time had passed save for the changing of the seasons. “Something like that, yeah,” Rick replied with a somber note, coming to stand beside Negan.

“What if we never find our way back?” Negan questioned then. “Everyone thinks we’re dead. They’ve moved on without us by now. Hey, do you think they built statues in our honor yet?”

It was something they never brought up before – the notion that they might not make it back, or that they might die out here, whether it be from injuries, sickness, walkers or just plain old starvation - with no one ever knowing the truth of what happened to them.

“We’ll make it back. We will,” said Rick, ever the optimist, but his tone was less confident than usual. Truthfully, Rick had harbored the same creeping thoughts of never returning home, of being swallowed up whole and digested by the hungry underbelly of the wild. He hated to think that way, but it was a possible reality he couldn’t deny.

They were without their communities, without their homes and their people. They had no security, no guarantee of a next meal or a safe shelter. Every day was a risk, a gamble, nervous a roll of the dice to determine if they survived. But they did have their resolve, their wits, and the will to overcome.

They also had one more thing.

Rick drifted closer to the man beside him, moving to stand directly in front of Negan. The still silence of their surroundings accentuated the sound of every movement they made, every shuffle of the foot, every inhale and exhale.

“We’ll make it back,” Rick repeated for the both of them, only slightly louder than a whisper. Their eyes met with a spark of new clarity, the golden light of the setting sun bringing out the warmer colors in them. Rick took Negan’s hand and clasped on tightly. “But if we don’t,” Rick added, “at least we have each other.”

With those last words still warm on his tongue, Rick leaned forward and pressed a bold, full kiss to Negan’s lips in an action long overdue.

And Negan returned the kiss in spades, just like Rick knew he would.


End file.
